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Pushpesh Pant recounts the legend of the ‘broken-hearted chicken’ served to Maharaja Harisingh of Kashmir during his visit to Lucknow and tells us how to prepare Murgh ke paarche.
In subsequent months and years, the bond of friendship grew steadily and Farouk Miyan regaled us with ‘foodlore’ as often as he dazzled us with his recipes. The legend of the ‘broken-hearted chicken’ served to His Royal Highness Maharaja Harisingh of Kashmir during a visit to the city of epicures is one such unforgettable bit of lost history recalled (or invented?) to add lustre to an outstanding delicacy.
Well, to begin at the beginning, the chicken was not crudely called ‘broken-hearted’; it appeared in the menu under the grand name murgh shikasta Haripasanda. Murgh does not need any translation but the adjectives shikasta and Haripasanda were delightful play on words. Shikasta literally translates as "defeated," "broken," "admitting loss" and the pun worked at two levels. The breast pieces —‘Supremes’— were arranged in a plate to illustrate separation, physical as well as emotional, and this was irretrievable loss. Romantic indeed. Then Haripasanda meant a favourite of the sovereign. It also indicated the steak-like fillet ‘cut of meat’—pasanda—redolent with just a suggestion of refreshing green masala. Never one to recount a story unadorned, Farouk Miyan smiled to add that the dish was ordered for the guest by none other than Begum Akhtar. (To borrow Saki’s ending of one of his stories, romance at short notice was Farouk’s specialty.) What he made us taste that night surely belonged to the charmed realm of sparkling gems and immortal ghazals. Murgh ke paarche — that is what the recipe essentially is — sounds so mundane in comparison to murgh shikasta Haripsanda! The best part of the story is that you don’t have to be a prince, a nightingale or even a gifted cook with a touch of genius to prepare and enjoy it. The dominant note in this melody can be ginger or garlic and the verdure may be contributed by coriander or mint coupled with green chillies. Do try it out. |
IT
was a little over a decade ago that Jiggs Kalra and I were researching
Awadhi cuisine in Lucknow when we first encountered the redoubtable
Muhammad Farouk — then almost unknown outside a small circle of food
lovers, name-dropping pretenders, noveau riche and freeloading
sahibs in that city. He was identified as the son of the legendary Haji
Faqre Alam, a jewel in the crown of bawarchi tola, the street of
master chefs in the culinary Mecca.