Kid Gosht and the Superman pose

A suspicious email, my dad's signature mutton curry and an unexpected trip to Coimbatore

For my recipe lovers:

• Jump to the full recipe (paid subscribers)

• What is Kid Gosht?

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Thank god I didn’t delete that almost-sounds-like-spam email.

It said:

“We are a leading MNC based out in Coimbatore. Blah blah blah, we would like to meet you to discuss the possibility of you being our consultant for the Parsi restaurant we are planning.

Blah blah blah. Would an appointment on 9 August work”

They couldn't possibly think that I could consult for a restaurant.

Me.

The girl who started writing about Parsi food so she didn’t lose the recipes her mum dictated to her over the phone.

We met in the lobby of J.W. Marriott, where I was hosting my first-ever Parsi food festival in the lead-up to Parsi New Year. Ignoring my sweaty palms, I looked at myself in the mirror as I did the Superman pose. I had read somewhere it helps you appear more confident.

What followed was an hour of being grilled.

Five offbeat Parsi dishes. Was I aware of Bhicoo Maneckshaw’s Parsi Food and Customs? My favourite Akoori. Had I worked with chefs before and could I manage their tantrums? My thoughts on Dhansak. What might the menu at my dream Parsi restaurant look like? On and on it went.

At night I couldn’t even remember what I had rattled off. I was still coming off the high. Grateful to have even been asked. Putting the finishing touches on the proposal, I called Dad to see if I had the figures right.

He demanded I triple my figure. Was he mad?

I wanted this. Bad enough to do it for free. I rolled my eyes. Grumbled he was being unrealistic. Surely, they are getting comparative quotes from the likes of Parsi experts such as Kurush Dalal and Anahita Dhondy, too. My lower price would make me attractive, I insisted.

“You’re pricing yourself like a blogger. Triple the fee, or I won’t help”, he threatened. Muttering in disbelief, my heart racing, I changed the figure. Hit send before I could change my mind.

“We’ve only got six more hours to go. Stop dawdling”, said Dad loudly in my left ear.

Filter coffee spilling out of my cup, I stumbled out of my reverie. Six hours. 360 minutes. We’d need as many of those as possible to make sure the mutton in my Kid Gosht was perfectly tender.

The Managing Director hadn’t shared a single line of opposition. So long as I came on this all expenses paid trip to Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu and cooked him a spread for his 40th birthday.

Dad probably never had to stand in the superman pose, my brain told me, as I waited for the onions to surrender in the hot oil and change colour.

The final test.

In the kitchen, Dad and I cooked in comfortable silence. Before this trip, I didn’t even know he knew so much about Parsi food. He probably never had to stand in the superman pose, my brain told me, as I waited for the onions to surrender in the hot oil and change colour.

The Kid Gosht we were making tonight might be Dad’s recipe, but it was me who suggested the cashew paste to make it thick. Me who recommended blitzing the gravy, so that the cinnamon and star anise that had been lazily floating in the Kid Gosht wasn’t over-powering. And me, that was busy ordering the chefs around so everything would be ready in time.

Kebabs ready to fry. Check

Patra ni Machchi steamed. Check

Mutton Pulao layered and smoking. Check. It was time.

At 8 PM sharp, the guests started trickling in, and we revealed the spread. Mint, cardamom and that ‘freshly fried’ aroma filling the air

Giant catering spread cooked up for a giant opportunity.

The Managing Director asked if I'd like a vodka now that the hard bit was done. Lifting my chin, a bright smile on my face, I headed with him to meet his friends. Debated my hypothesis about Dhansak being overrated. Made the crowd laugh with the story of my Patra ni Machchi redemption. Confidence buzzed in my veins with each story while my eyes kept track of the second and third servings the guests were taking.

At midnight, I took stock. Bowls scraped clean. The staff meal I’d made for the cooks who helped me, lonely in the fridge waiting to be eaten.

Dad’s eyes twinkled as he caught me whispering to myself, “What hungus people! Thank God I charged triple.”

Looks like I didn’t need that superman pose after all.

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What is Kid Gosht?

Kid Gosht used to be a regular fixture at many Parsi weddings and navjotes a decade or two earlier, but sadly, it’s not seen much these days. From scrolling through various food groups, I learned that Kid Gosht came to be named so because of the tender baby goat that used to be used to make the dish. Or maybe, it was a mutton dish parents made exclusively for their kids? Ergo, Kid Gosht?

There are often two versions of the recipe. One uses coconut cream to thicken the gravy, and another uses a paste of cashews soaked in milk. You can use either or, like me, use both! No such thing as extra creaminess!

Not many people know of Kid Gosht outside the Parsi community, and I want to spread the love. It’s perfect for spice-averse Indian food beginners as it only has a handful of spices and most of the flavour comes from the meat being cooked in its own juices.

A final note. A menu at an Indian takeaway where they serve chicken, lamb and paneer versions of every gravy might make you believe that a chicken or paneer version of this recipe will be just as tasty as Kid Gosht. I’ve tried the swaps, and for this one, at least, red meat works best.

Ingredients - makes enough for 4-6 people

For the marination
800 gm lamb or goat meat, with bones
1 heaped tsp ginger paste
1 heaped tsp garlic paste
2 tsp salt

For the cashew paste
100gm broken cashews
150ml milk

For the gravy
4 tbsp ghee or oil
1-3 cm cinnamon stick
4 star anise
6-7 green cardamom, roughly crushed
3-4 green chillies, slit
2 big onions, finely chopped
1 tsp black pepper, crushed
300ml mutton stock
3 potatoes, cubed to medium pieces
400ml coconut cream
Handful of coriander, finely chopped
Salt to taste