Bakra Eid and a lockdown do not exactly match. So the solution for Lahoris is one of the two options: either get a home delivery or cook like crazy all the meat that comes your way. We chose both.

The collective decision was to gather at one place, as all brothers live in the same neighbourhood. So sneaking over was no big deal. Yes, social distancing was observed (in theory), while two bizarre members continued to wear face masks. For starters, there was fresh (literally) liver fried with salt and pepper. My late mother was an expert at that. No naans at this stage. Then once the bones were collected they were immediately put in a huge pot for the yakhni for a rather late lunch.

Once the liver was consumed – which took a few minutes – the sweet session started with fabulous ‘seevan’ in three versions all loaded with almonds and pistachios. One was fried, the other with milk and the third slow-cooked sheer khorma loaded with condensed milk and cream and a silver warq. My wife’s friend Flora Saeed makes the best in Lahore.

Then came the mutton karahi with our cook being reasonably good at it. But the begum prefers mutton qorma with probably every known spice on earth used to amazing effect. She also likes pilau, never biryani. I suppose being an old school puritan has its plusses. For guests (who never came because of the lockdown) she followed the recipe described recently on social media by Syed Babar Ali. Seems like an old Lahore technique, but then every pure Lahori is born half a chef.

But the best part was the mutton mince kebabs. Recently, my daughter sent over a hot air fryer, which is the new ‘in’ thing. We followed a Turkish recipe of kebabs with green chillies, diced onions squeezed of the water, light salt and pepper, and the resultant foot-long kebab in the fryer was exquisite. After the doubters had a try, the whole evening saw kebabs flowing out every 10 minutes. No oil, no smoke, very clean.

The hot air fryer was also used for well-marinated chicken breast pieces resulting in exceptional tikka pieces. Going to the market for them is now a gone era. Just start the fryer, take a few needed marinated chicken pieces from the fridge and, voila, you are done. Rest assured, I am not a hot air fryer salesman. But this is the future.

From a well-known local takeaway we had ordered fresh salads, potato salad and a spiced spaghetti salad. Then there was fruit and naans. It was meat galore. Lockdown or no lockdown. Then the sweets plus ice cream packs and you actually had eight adults lying helplessly on the carpet.

To rescue us, my Kashmiri wife made pots of Kashmiri tea. She disallows the use of sugar and actually scolded a nephew for being junglee. Imagine Kashmiri pink tea with sugar, she exclaims. “You Jats will never learn,” she says. “If you want tea, have English tea or Peshawari qehwa, but do not upset me.” We all agree as we glance at each other.

So after a well-fed mob sips away with occasional sweets and nuts, it seems the dinner is yet another story. So slowly everyone turns to discussion which is outside the purview of this piece.

EID SIDESHOWS: Normally a dahi bhalla is a complete meal, but no, the ladies wanted to have yet more. There was the mandatory bhalla and then allo-channay, fruit salad and desi sweets.

Another addition is the readily available Punjabi samosas that can be purchased frozen in very nice packaging of 20s. They remind me of the famous Regal samosas of our youth. Things are progressing. I hope you did not overeat, which as professor Shoaib Hashmi used to say during our GC days, was “a sin not to indulge in on Eid”. May the Almighty grant him the best of health, and a belated Eid Mubarak.

Published in Dawn, August 9th, 2020