Memories of meals past

Please join us for iftar," said the restaurant manager one summer afternoon, and I readily agreed as the eatery was one of my favourites in the downtown area of the Saudi capital.

I had been living in Riyadh for a couple of years, enjoying the various cuisines this vibrant city had to offer. But I felt that something was missing and could not put my finger on it until this restaurant opened, offering my favourite dishes from my hometown Hyderabad.

It was the first Hyderabadi restaurant to open in Riyadh and most evenings I would drive through the crowded streets, somehow find a parking spot and walk down to the restaurant and order my favourite mutton biryani.

Preparing a mutton biryani takes a lot of effort - it's not something that you can whip up in a jiffy like Jamie the 'Naked Chef' does when he is inviting his girlfriend over for a meal.

I tried making biryani once and the process went on for hours. But the fun part is the layering of the lightly-cooked meat between the raw rice. You then close the lid of the dish with dough and let the whole thing steam over a low fire.

The aroma that emanates from the cooking utensil when you peel away the dough can turn even a dietician into a glutton.

To end the meal I would order a bread sweet, soaked in sugar syrup, that can leave you nodding and snoring in your chair.

The food from my hometown is soaked in clarified butter and spices and you need to order a sulaimaniya chai, tea with no milk or sugar, after your meal to make your stomach settle and to clean your palate.

You can find most five-star hotel chains in Riyadh and every Ramadan they set up colourful tents near the swimming pools, offering a variety of foods from the various cooking stations. Sometimes they flew in five-star Michelin chefs to draw a crowd.

Unfortunately, not many people follow doctors' suggestions to eat lightly at iftar and medical staff have their hands full with people who think they are dying of a heart attack, but who are actually suffering from a 'gas attack'.

As usual I waited until the last moment before I rushed off to the restaurant for iftar. This is a dangerous time of the day because you find yourself racing along with hundreds of motorists desperately trying to reach home before the sun sets, as you are supposed to break your fast at the call for evening prayer.

The sensible thing would be to carry a few dates and a small bottle of water so that if you were running late you could pull over on the side of the road when you hear the call to prayer and end the fast in safety. But throughout the month we would edit news reports of people who had ended up in hospital because they were trying to beat the clock.

On this occasion I somehow managed to reach the restaurant ahead of time and the manager said that iftar would be held at his home nearby. We then trooped up to the roof of the building, which had been lightly sprinkled with water, and mats were laid out.

From that vantage point, the city below seemed to be at a standstill. There was not a soul or a car on the road as the sun slowly sank over the horizon. We chatted until the call to prayer was heard.

Immediately, two hefty guys came through the doorway carrying enormous pots. "I have made your favourite haleem, said the hotel manager.

Haleem is a concoction of cracked wheat, lentils, spices and meat, which is cooked over a slow fire. You sprinkle fried onions on top, add a twist of lemon juice and your stomach is grateful for this high-caloric food after the day-long fast.