A "Deconstructed" Chickpea Polau for a Vegetarian Eid ul-Adha/Qurbani Eid

Chickpea Polau. Photo by Mir Masud-Elias. Copyright 2014.

"There is not an animal (that lives) on the earth, nor a being that flies on its wings, but (forms part of) communities like you." Quran, 6:38.

Growing up in a Muslim, South Asian culture where keeping pets (aside from domestic livestock animals) was not very common in the late '70s, it’s not surprising that outside of the zoo, my earliest memories of my first encounter with an animal were the pair of milk-white and jet-black goats that showed up in the courtyard of our house a few days before Eid ul-Adha or Qurbani Eid* one year. I remember feeding them leaves from a branch, which they seemed to enjoy, and running my hands down their rough, furry backs. Mostly, I remember their tranquil, liquid eyes. With the improbable and absurd imagination of a child defying logic, I let myself believe that the pair of goats were brought home for us to keep, and that other arrangements were going to be made for the ritual sacrifice that year. On the appointed day, by the time I went downstairs to the courtyard in my crisp new clothes, the goats were gone and the blood had been cleaned up. A slight lingering smell of death laced the air. That’s the first time I remember smelling blood. 

From my blog posts to date, you know that I eat meat. So, is the reminiscence above simply some indulgent nostalgia or casual hypocrisy on my part? I don't have the answer to this question other than asking you to accept that the memory of the "vanished" goats comes to my mind whenever I think of this Eid, which I've personally missed observing (in the strict ritual sense) by and large for the last 21 years of my adult life.** You see, I had never had the chance and have never allowed myself the chance to become "friendly" with the meat I eat. Certainly, I've never taken the life of any animal that has ever graced my table. Through the powers of imaginative dissimulation, I've kept the meat I eat (specially, during festive occasions that bring together family and friends) scrupulously separate in my mind from the animals I love. Yes, I know -- the mind is a terrible thing to waste on such mundane deceptions. Yet, we are all guilty as charged. However, ethics in general, and food and animal ethics in particular, is hardly a zero-sum game.

I know I'm not alone in experiencing the complicated feelings and emotions that some of us have towards "distanced meat-eating" (i.e., when you eat the flesh of an animal with whom you have zero connection whatsoever). Feelings and emotions that are exacerbated by this particular Eid where our connection to the required ritual slaughter is becoming ever more tenuous. As a Muslim residing in a predominantly non-Muslim country, you can now arrange for your ritual slaughter at the click of a button trusting someone you've never met to ensure that the proper animal is given the mercifully quick and "clean" death that is ritually prescribed.*** 

So, I chose a one-dish vegetarian recipe for this post, which I dedicate to those of you who are with me and even to those who are perturbed by these words and, in particular, to all vegetarians (including, observant Muslim vegetarians). But, mostly, I dedicate this post to the countless animals who provide the enormous bounty of sustenance to us -- to creatures who don't even need this gift to sustain ourselves.

The "deconstructed" part of the title of this post comes from the fractured feelings I have about this particular Eid; about the way I reimagined this dish (a polau or pilaf is cooked together, not separated and brought together in the end as I've done); and the fact that I borrowed from numerous traditions - Afghan, Central Asian, Pakistani, and (arguably, stripped to its barest essentials) Turkish, to come up with my version of this dish. The traditional Afghan Kabuli Polau would likely have minced lamb, which I skipped for reasons that should be obvious if you've read this far. 

Any festival among Muslims, including Qurbani Eid, regardless of its origins and religious import is mostly intended to be celebrated as an occasion to take a day out of your life to spend in the company of family, friends and neighbors and to remember the less fortunate among us. With this in mind, Eid Mubarak (a very happy Eid) to you all!

One final note: Don't be intimidated by the list of ingredients you see below. When you decide to eschew meat, you can't skip on the "fat" and flavors. In cooking, as in life, we're not meant to have it all, so pick our poison, we must. The spice list in this recipe still pales in comparison to the chickpea pilafs served in Ottoman courts, which were said to have small, solid balls of gold hidden among the rice and chickpeas for the unsuspecting but lucky (except for the dental damage suffered) guests;-)

Servings: ~2-4 people (yes, this is for a small Eid dinner for two.)

Prep Time: ~20 minutes (not including overnight presoaking of dried chickpeas)

Cooking Time: ~2 hours

Ingredients: 

• 1 cup dried chickpeas (boil for a few minutes and skim off any grey scum, then soak overnight or for 8 hours in a cool place)
• 2 cups high-quality basmati rice (rinsed)
• 1 yellow onion (thinly sliced)
• 1 inch piece of ginger (chopped fine or crushed to a paste) 
• 5 cloves of garlic (crushed to a paste) 
• 3 black whole cardamoms  
• 1 whole bayleaf
• 1 small whole cinnamon stick
• 1 tablespoon dried or fresh mint (chopped fine)
• 1 teaspoon ground coriander seeds 
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin seeds
• 1 teaspoon cayenne powder 
• 2 teaspoons whole caraway seeds
• 3 whole star anises
• 4 whole cloves
• Half a large carrot or 1 small carrot (slivered) 
• A handful of slivered almonds
• A handful of golden raisins
• 1 small bunch fresh coriander (stems and leaves)
• Orange blossom water (to taste)
• Pinch saffron
• 1 cup milk
• ~1 cup regular cooking oil
• 8 dollops/pats of butter or ghee/clarified butter 
• Little water or vegetarian stock for cooking chickpeas
• Generous amount of water for parboiling rice 
• Salt

Preparation:

Cooking Chickpeas and Making Caramelized Onion Garnish

1. Pour enough of the oil to cover the bottom of a heavy-bottomed saucepan.
2. Fry/caramelize onions (until golden brown taking care not to let it burn to a crisp) in oil over medium to low heat and set aside on a paper towel.
3. Use the same oil to saute the following until fragrant: ginger, garlic, cardamom and bay leaf.
4. Then add the cinnamon, cayenne, ground cumin, ground coriander, anise and cloves, and saute for a couple of minutes or until fragrant.
5. Add chickpeas and a little water or stock to cover.
6. Add coriander stems and the mint.
7. Check and add salt (to taste but generously as the cooking liquid will not be used)
8. Simmer for 20-30 minutes or until tender but slightly al dente.

Cooking Rice

1. Boil a generous amount of water with a good amount of salt in a separate heavy-bottomed, deep saucepan.
2. Add rice.
3. Bring back to a boil, and then boil for exactly 5 minutes.
4. Drain the rice into a colander.
5. Place 3 pats butter/ghee at the bottom of pan.
6. Layer rice with chickpeas (decanted from cooking liquid) and caraway seeds.
7. Add 3 pats of ghee on top.
8. Dissolve saffron threads in warm milk and pour over the rice and chickpea mixture.
9. Steam for 20 minutes with a tightly closed lid.

Making Remaining Garnish

1. Use the remaining ghee to fry the carrots, then almonds and then raisins, each separately. Set each item after frying on a paper towel (you can combine the three items at this stage).
2. When the chickpea rice is done, add fresh coriander leaves, the fried almonds, raisins and carrots, the caramelized onions and orange blossom water before serving.

Serve With:

A simple chopped salad of tomatoes, cucumber, red onions or scallions with a twist of lemon and seasoned with salt and pepper, and a yogurt sauce (raita) prepared with a little garlic, minced cucumber, mint (fresh or dried) and salt.

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* This is one of two major religious holidays celebrated by Muslims worldwide. This Eid (Festival) honors the willingness of Ibrahim (Abraham) to sacrifice his young first-born son Ismail (Ishmael) as an act of submission to Allah’s command, before Allah then intervened to provide Ibrahim with a ram to sacrifice instead.
** For the sake of full disclosure, my mother, in performing her ritual obligations during this Eid, designates the required portion of the animal(s) being sacrificed for all members of the immediate family, including me, as has been her custom since we were born.
*** In a classical Islamic sense, the ritual slaughter of livestock animals requires the quick and merciful death of a healthy and wholesome animal with minimal pain and suffering.