Only 55 years have passed since India gained independence from Britain and
then split into two countries, Pakistan in the north and the remainder of India
in the south. Great similarities remain between their cuisines -- curries, tandoor-cooked
meats and desserts flavored with rose water among them.
But whereas some Indian sauces are as fine-tuned as a perfect beurre blanc,
Pakistani cooking tends to involve spices -- some whole -- tossed in with apparent
abandon; minimal cooking often preserves the pungent splendors of garlic, ginger
root and chiles. And unlike in India, where many people keep to a vegetarian
diet, the Muslims of Pakistan love their meat as long as it's halal (the Islamic
equivalent of kosher). There always seems to be a bowl of butchered goat or
chicken waiting like a blank canvas for a dousing of turmeric and cinnamon,
cardamom and black pepper, in Salt 'n' Pepper's open kitchen.
Waiting in the sparse, brightly lit room among customers joking in Urdu with
owner Tanvir M. Inam and some of his employees, you can watch a cook molding
roughly ground beef mixed with raw chiles, onion and spices around long metal
skewers; after a few turns on the grill, he slides the hollow, charred kebabs
onto a plate for you to grab at with mitts of fresh-baked naan (like unstuffed
paratha). Mutton, or goat, is a lovely meat once the toughness is cooked away:
sweet like lamb but less threatening in its gaminess. Try it cooked down in
a dark sauce of spinach and ginger, or masala-style in a turmeric-orange, slightly
gelatinous gravy redolent of ginger and cinnamon.
Chicken masala is made with the same complex sauce, and chicken biryanee is
like a dry jambalaya made with basmati rice, saffron and irregular pieces of
tender chicken heavily seasoned with cinnamon and other warm spices so that
even the white meat looks like beef. One well-built customer who seemed to enjoy
his ironic nickname, Baby, snacked on sugared fennel seeds at the counter while
a cook dished him up a second portion of this traditionally festive rice dish.
Just as Pakistani food is robust with spice, it's generally prepared with
more oil than some Westerners might prefer; if you're one of them, try cutting
the sauces with a side of basmati rice so light it almost floats. Tiny salads
of raw cucumbers, green peppers and radishes accompanying all entrees offer
similar reprieve.
Despite the carnivorous leanings, vegetarians can order lentils (dal) shot
through with whole black peppercorns, chiles and cilantro; flaky samosas paved
inside with potato, cilantro and cumin seed; and slightly soggy pakoras, which
are vegetables (primarily onions) coated heavily in chick pea batter, fried
and re-heated to order.
And of course there are the superb, buttered breads -- naan and paratha --
the rolling out and baking of which seem to provide the subject for many heated
conversations in the kitchen. A friend of mine has adopted a weekly routine
that involves taking his hot paratha in a paper bag. It's cool enough to handle
by the time he reaches Tower Records and hearty enough to last him through an
hour of browsing.
Almost everything at Salt 'n' Pepper is best with bottled mango juice and
a side of the spicy, part-curd yogurt sauce that's as free as catsup.
Every serious eater I observed ordered his own naan, and nearly every table
finished a Pakistani meal with cardamom-scented rice pudding (kheer) or delicate,
housemade almond popsicles (kulfi). Each sweet costs $1, which should shame
nearby restaurants where mass-produced desserts are garnished with mint leaves
and sold for six times as much.
A peculiar set of agendas blend successfully in this small business, which
gives me hope that Inam will make ends meet on lower Iberville Street while
continuing to offer Pakistani food at rock-bottom prices. All kinds of people
stumbling along the high-traffic corridor are drawn in by computer-printed signs
advertising cigarettes and po-boys. Tourists who wouldn't dream of eating Pakistani
food in New Orleans order fried seafood platters, and a few pizzas wait in the
open air to be re-heated by the slice.
Meanwhile down the block, the Pakistani-run Asian Grocery rents Indian movies
and sells bags of whole spices. The steady supply of double-parked cabs between
the two places in this unlikely neighborhood proves that there's nothing predictable
in the hunt for great new flavors.
