Sunday breakfast is kebabs

Because my Grandpa said so. These kebabs are like the exotic Indian cousin to British meatballs and Turkish kebabs

For my recipe lovers:

• Skip the story and get to the recipe (paid subscribers)

• What are kebabs? These look like meatballs

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In our home, Grandpa was the OG Foodie.

He ate wafers from B wafer only, Boomla’s from Grantroad fish market only, Chicken crust pattice only from PAC and watermelon sherbet from the same vendor that his dad bought from (this street food cart is now run by the third generation).

If Zomato or Google Guides were around in the early 90s, Grandpa would be the local foodie mayor.

Even though we were quite close, I don’t remember my grandpa talking much. What I do remember is his rule that Sunday breakfast was always kebabs.

Grandpa’s Kheema Kebabs taste best with a squeeze of lemon juice

We followed this rule strictly. Since social media was not a thing back then, I grew up assuming that the ‘Sunday breakfast is kebabs’ rule was part of our religion and it’s just what every good Parsi did.

It took 11 years for me to realise that normal people also had other things to eat on Sunday. But now, I was hooked and there was no going back.

In our house, only Dad and I were allowed to sleep in on Sundays. That too, only until 8.30. After this, Granny would stroll in and open all the curtains. If we didn’t wake up after 15 more minutes, she’d come switch off the ceiling fan! Grandpa wouldn’t fry the kebabs until I helped him so really, me sleeping in meant forced intermittent fasting for the family.

While I brushed my teeth, Grandpa would keep everything ready on the counter. My job, like any great TV chef, was to stroll in at the last minute to crack in the eggs, add the coriander and squeeze out the water from the slices of soaked bread. While he got the oil going, I would mix everything together.

The heady aroma of the raw spices as I mixed the mince and the squishy feel of the eggs and bread binding the mixture always elicited a grumble from my tummy. I like to think of it as food meditation.

Meanwhile, Grandpa would lay three torn double pages of a magazine on the counter and in a steel plate empty a heap of semolina which we would use to roll the kebabs in.

Before that came the taste test. Grandpa would always roll the first two kebabs and fry them until golden. He’d place them on a smaller steel plate and cut them in half. Together, he’d have a piece, and I’d have one then we’d look to each other for confirmation.

Taste test done, it was time for me to leave the kitchen and relax on our easy chair and pretend to read Sunday Mid-day. Mum would rush around cutting fresh lemon slices, opening a packet of fresh Wibs white sliced bread and laying the table for Sunday breakfast.

And then, the golden brown, deliciously crisp kebabs would arrive. Grandpa would put the kebabs into all our plates and in symphony, we’d reach out for the lemon and squeeze it on top of the kebabs for the final zing. The first bite of a kebab was always eaten in revered silence.

All the family members would get exactly six kebabs because Grandpa had to save the mixture to have cutlets (burger patties-ish) for dinner.

Me, I got eight.

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What is a kebab?

You may also know kebabs by their other truly bland and misleading name, meatballs. Yes, they are made of meat and they do resemble a meatball. That’s where the similarity ends.

Making the perfect kebab is an art. You need the perfect balance of meat, potato, spices and binding ingredients to get a crispy three-bite ball that doesn’t fall apart when frying.

If you don’t add spices and coriander, you’re making a meatball.

Many Parsi households make kebabs. If they don’t make kebabs, they’ll make cutlets - not lamb cutlets but like a burger patty. Kebabs and cutlets belong to a category of the meal we call ‘Ramakra’, a Parsi-Gujarati term for toys.

I say Parsi Gujarati term because the predominantly vegetarian Gujarati community of Indian Gujaratis would be horrified that we are referring to meatballs as ‘toys’. But they are deliciously meaty, and I love eating them with everything in the same way my kids love taking their toys to every party.

Grandpa’s kebabs are unique because the egg goes into the mixture, and they come with potatoes. Parsis make another kind of kebab too (and of course cutlets) which I’ll cover another time.

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