I arrived in England last week just before the Easter weekend, so it was straight into the kitchen while still jet lagged. With a house full of guests, I was asked to cook one meal consisting of qeema-matar — an old stand-by that’s a favourite with the kids — together with daal, raita and rice.

More interestingly, Robbie, an old friend and a great cook, prepared a leg of lamb. I often use rosemary and garlic in the marinade, but Robbie added anchovies. These little fish are excellent for adding depth of flavour, and I have often used them in the base for a Bolognese pasta sauce. But Robbie’s method consisted of cutting slits in the lamb and forcing slivers of garlic, rosemary and chopped anchovies into them.

We had discussed slow cooking the leg, but didn’t have enough time as it weighed over two kilos, so it went into a hot oven for a couple of hours while other accompaniments were prepared. Potatoes were quartered and parboiled before olive oil was drizzled over them. Lots of rosemary was chucked into the dish before it was placed in the oven. Robbie said it was a family adage that there were never enough roasted potatoes, and he was proved right when the nine of us sat down to Sunday lunch.

Holiday period is meant to party and be merry

The lamb was succulent and full of flavour. The anchovies and garlic had worked their magic, and the rosemary had left its unmistakable fragrance. This is my favourite herb, and I use it a lot, even with scrambled eggs. We have a couple of bushes growing in the garden, and the poor things are subjected to regular defoliage. Rosemary generally prefers the dry climate of Islamabad to Karachi’s humidity, and is seldom available fresh where I shop.

The other leg I had recently was at my brother Navaid’s flat, the evening before I left Karachi. This was smaller, and came from a goat. Mutton in the subcontinent actually refers to goat meat, as I suspect Memsahibs in the days of the Raj pretended they were eating the meat of a familiar animal rather than something alien like goat. In England, ‘lamb’ refers to sheep under one year of age; anything older is ‘mutton’, and is seldom on offer. Here, while goat milk and yoghurt are gaining in popularity, specially among those allergic to cow milk, goat meat is hard to find, except with butchers catering to Muslims. No such shops in Devizes, sadly.

Zain, my brother’s talented cook, used my mother’s simple recipe which consists of rubbing the meat with crushed garlic, ginger, salt, pepper and olive oil, and then puncturing the skin with a fork in many places so the marinade can penetrate the meat. The leg is then placed in a heavy, lidded pot and allowed to cook gently on low heat for around three hours. This pot-roasting technique helps to retain the moisture, and allows the meat to cook until it is falling off the bone. The end result was outstanding, and the juices were ideal for soaking up with roti.

One last meaty dish was eaten on Saundy at little Iris’s christening festivities. Her mother Olivia is my stepdaughter, and her husband Ned is an excellent cook. He had barbecued a huge haunch of beef for 24 guests. After slow cooking it initially, he placed it on a high heat for 20 minutes or so to give the surface a slightly charred finish. The meat was underdone, just as the Brits like their Sunday roast, and was juicy and tender. Lots of roast potatoes, leeks and broccoli accompanied the meat, and we were all absolutely full at the end of the splendid meal.

More houseguests are due next weekend, and I am already preparing menus in my head. As my son Shakir says, with me the party never stops…

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, April 19th, 2015

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