I was struck by a pang today, realising that in the months ahead I would have no chance for good nihari. There will be meaty food in Lebanon but without mirch masala. There will be mirch masala in Nepal (I assume) but no meat and certainly no nihari. New Zealand and Australia – fug, as they say, edaboutit. First I mewled to my siblings, then did an online search and settled on Aladin Kebabish, renowned for Karachi style nihari (I confess I’m not sure of the difference) and reputedly beloved of the city’s former-lord in exile. So I took a bus ot Hendon and walked through the usual bleak North London suburbia till I reached Aladin. There the TV was set to ARY and the waiters were the willowy casual sorts with alert eyes who prop up the dry bar in every Pakistani restaurant. I realised as I summoned one that I haev two different beckoning styles – one for Pakistani restaurants and one for all others. For Pakistanis, it’s a raised left hand with a single finger curling downward in and imperious twitch. The right hand doesn’t feel right when I try it out at home. For non-Pakistanis it’s a palm raised facing forward with all fingers clenching in a spasmodic nearly-fist. I shall have to pay attention and see what the beckoning styles are in my travel.
A single portion of nihari turned out to be enough for three. I dove into it headfirst, so it was only when I came up for air that I could give a considered evaluation. This was: significantly better than nihari made from a Shan mix, or most restaurants, but not a patch on my beloved Mohammadi nihari in Lahore. Oh, how I miss my Mohammadi. It was thickened with corn flour, which I always dislike. But it had a good, authentic flavour and the Karachi-born waiter was very sweet, and clearly recognised a lone Pakistani longing for a nihari fix.
I now have enough nihari for at least two meals packed away in the kitchen and am unsure what to do with it. I fear I’ll have to throw it away, or maybe I should eat it all tomorrow so that I am so fed up of nihari that I will not want any for the next year or so.
I took a different bus back and it went through Hendon proper, which was extremely interesting to see. Around Middlesex University were what looked like very new Chinese shops and restaurants, many with signage only in Chinese. We passed through the Jewish bit of Hendon with its kosher butchers and bagel shops, now interspersed with Pakistani, Turkish and Polish restaurants. I wonder to what extent all those world collide.
I also went to get my arms and legs waxed this morning, thinking that lax grooming is fine in London but it really won’t do in Beirut. Tomorrow, the final bits of packing, and then I’m off the following morning.
And if you’re wondering, my favourite nihari in London remains Ravi Kebab’s on Drummond Street. Perhaps, as the name suggests, because it’s Lahore style.