Pakistani Cooking At The Library—

Spice And Spice

And Everything Nice

By Nancy K. Crevier

Even before Kanwal Sakhi began her Pakistani cooking class March 23, the meeting room at the C.H. Booth Library is filled with exotic scents. Tiny silver bowls filled with red peppers, cumin seed, coriander seeds, and ground spices spill their aromas into the air, and tidy stacks of plastic containers full of diced chilies, garlic, onions, tomatoes, ground chicken, and potatoes hint at the banquet that awaits the ten students gathered there.

The melon-colored embroidered shirt and elaborately beaded orange flats that Ms Sakhi wears reflect the exuberant yet professional air this caterer of ethnic cuisine brings to the class.

A native of Pakistan, Ms Sakhi has lived in the United States for eight years, and Newtown for three years. She is a real estate agent for Prudential Connecticut Realty, but loves sharing the food of her native land with others. Her catering company, K Cuisine, provides Pakistani specialties for parties and other events.

In a lilting accent, she begins by explaining the difference between Pakistani and other Indian cooking. They both use many of the same spices, but they are utilized differently. In Indian cooking, spices are ground and blended together into various types of curry powder.

“Pakistani food,” she emphasizes, “does not use curry.” By not using a curry powder, there is more control over the spices.

“If you make cauliflower, it should taste like cauliflower. It should not taste like curry powder.”

It is possible, she admits, to obtain spices at a supermarket, but she recommends buying them from an Indian grocery store, such as Bombay Sweet & Spicey on Main Street in Danbury.

“They just taste better,” she claims.

Ms Sakhi works steadily as she explains the techniques for making chaana chaat, potato samosas, pakoras, and chicken kababs. As she speaks, she sprinkles in as many tips as she does spices to the food.

“Always, always crush the garlic,” she pleads. “If you chop it, you will not get the flavor.” She liberally dumps the garlic into the bowl of chaana chaat, a chickpea salad, and then comes around the room offering everyone a whiff of cumin seeds.

“You must crush up the cumin seeds. Now they smell good, but see the difference when they are crushed.” She mashes them in her kundi, “The only tool I brought from Pakistan,” which Americans know as a mortar and pestle. Passing the pulverized seeds once again, students are amazed by the intense fragrance they emit.

“Almost a little lemony,” comments one woman.

Moving on to the chicken kabab, Ms Sakhi uses her hands to deftly stir chilies, cilantro, tomatoes, and onions into the ground chicken, measuring everything by eye.

“The wonderful thing about Indian food is that you can make it as spicy as you like or not.” She goes on to inform the class. “A kabab means a small burger. It is a misconception that it means something skewered. That skewered thing,” she scolds, “is not a kabab. We call it [the American skewered kabab] ‘Tikka.’”

She kneads the dough and makes the filling for samosas, chops the potatoes, and measures the chickpea flour for pakoras, as stomachs around the classroom begin to growl in anticipation. When a student asks if canned potatoes can be substituted for fresh in the recipe, a horrified look crosses her face.

“Oh, no, no, no! And never freeze a samosa! Please!” she exclaims.

While the samosas and pakoras fry, Ms Sakhi, cheeks pink and glowing, finishes up with chutney to accompany the snacks.

“Do you want mint or coriander chutney?” she asks the group. Some shout out “Mint!” while others cast their vote for coriander. Ever accommodating, the cooking teacher makes both mint and coriander chutneys — garlicky, zesty green sauces for dipping. To mellow the spiciness, she suggests adding plain yogurt to either of the chutneys.

The one and a half hour class has flown by and class members cluster around the serving table.

“Ooohs” and “ahhhs” compete with the exotic scents in the air, as the students sample the food.

“Very good,” says one, giving the thumbs up to Ms Sakhi. The others nod in agreement.

She smiles hospitably, “Thank you.”

Clearly, she has scored many points with this group of soon-to-be-Pakistani cooks.