How To Spot A Social Climber & Chili Con Carne with Honey Cornbread

Belligerent Buddies: Me and B play party posers!

Photo Credit: Umair S. Fazli - Visual Works

Oh! My! God!  Does it feel good to be back and blabbing! Taping the trap shut has been traumatic, I tell you! Have you noticed the exclamation marks?!? Intended to illustrate how excited I am! May I begin with how much I missed you? I was this close to curling up cocoon-style and crying. Okay, that was a tad OTT, but there was a tinge of truth to that. The grapevine’s been gushing with gossip, guys and gals, and God, have I gathered some juicy, jaw-dropping gems! Now do you get why I was so desperate? I’ve been dying to dish! I’ve also been dying to sleep like it’s going out of style, but that’s a separate story.

On a side-note, I swear I’ll stop adding exclamation marks to everything...soon!

Honestly, this hiatus was like being hit by a hurricane. I’m weak and worn out and want to whine. The upside is I have an amazingly awesome alibi for going AWOL. Come to think of it, there’s a couple. Care to count?  

Let’s begin with my best friends wed a week apart, which obviously entailed attending at least a million events. And what is a shaadi without some shor-sharaaba, right? Cue the music and move over Maroon 5 ‘cause I’ve got the moves like Jagger. Courtesy Kallu the choreographer, I am capable of cutting a rug to over a dozen desi dance numbers. Also, blatantly badgering my brother-in-law to get betrothed finally bore fruit.  He traded his freedom for a fabulous fiancée! In other news, the husband and I hosted a pre-nuptial party for our pals. And an extremely exciting Elmo-themed event for our baby’s first birthday. Oh, and there was our anniversary. And dare I forget that daunting deadline. The pressure of putting Hunger & Haw Hai’s first published feature was fierce.

UPDATE: Between the time that I began typing this out, till now, I’ve also hosted a laugh-out-loud ladies night. Now, I generally don’t gush about my girls, but I’m going with my gut and saying it anyways; I have a great gang! Hilarious, hot-headed homies! Additionally, I’ve attended another engagement, followed by an afternoon affair to applaud the affianced. Shout out, Juggan Kazim; may you always be blessed and beautiful! For the record, I’ve resolved to remain under the radar for the rest of the year. 

You know, the husband asks me the same question every weekend. Stay in or step out? Pardon me, my prince, but you're well aware that that's like asking me to pick between poison and Parisian pastries. A no-brainer. Slacking off is higher on my to-do list than socializing. Seriously, I’d sooner have my throat slit than spend Saturday night at some snotty soiree.

Here's why; I am in utter violation of several sacred social standards. For starters, I'm probably doomed beyond redemption for recycling clothes. Also, I'd rather have a hernia than go through the horror of having my hair done. And blah-blah banter makes me want to say bye-bye before I can blink.

But back in the day, I was the master of March madness and so I made a highly unprecedented move. I committed my calendar to being social and on the scene.  

By the way, this time was a brand new ballgame. The thing is, at my best, I’m elusive; at all other times I’m almost impossible to track down, but Section 1.1 of my crew’s Code of Conduct frowns furiously upon flakiness. And if my calculations are correct, I have a grand total of five friends and, frankly, I’d like to keep them close thus, blowing off besties was not an option. And so I sucked it up, spazzing at the sudden switch from wet-blanket to wild-thang.

I felt like I was perpetually primping for a party.

On the other hand, and I honestly don’t know how he does it, but the husband has this enviable ability to transform into a teenager at will. And nothing ups the ante like being aided and abetted by an entire entourage of Aitchisonians. Even I’ll admit their energy can be quite infectious.

I must also mention that my man was so moved by the moment, he managed to get his hands on a mic, making himself the MC at multiple mehendis.  Hype, humor, hullabaloo; he hit it out of the park. In fact, he did such a raging job that one reviewer raved he could give Ryan Seacrest a run for his money.  Of course, my counterpart is clueless about who Ryan Seacrest is, but somehow that’s not a shocker. Bless your innocence and enthusiasm, baby. Boo-Yah!

Anyways, at long last it’s over. I shall now head back to hibernating and being a hermit.

Oh wait, something slipped. Something saucy, something scandalous! I spy, with my little eye, something that starts with an S.

Hello, HELLO!Pakistan: Employed at Last!

Hunger & Haw Hai’s break from blogging bears fruit! This piece, Lemon Panna Cotta & Mulled Strawberry Trifle, was commissioned by HELLO!Pakistan for their April 2013 anniversary issue.

And at last, I am employed again! *HAPPY DANCE* *MAKRANI DANCE* *SHOULDER SHIMMY* Being back in business is beautiful! Hallelujah, for I am whole!  I will spill this, though; putting the pieces together was stressful, it was sweaty, it was surreal, but God, it was great! Also, I want to take a second and say that, seriously, none of this would’ve been possible without the support and sass of my incredible editor, Mehvash Amin. I revere women with razor-sharp wit and the reality is she's a rockin' roller!

Do you know how fantastic it felt  having the freedom to pick a festive favorite? Freakin' fabulous! Not, to mention having my photograpghy featured too. It's all too much, I tell you!

And what would Hunger & Haw Hai be without you, boys and girls? I’m eternally indebted to each and every one of you for humoring my hysteria and saving my sanity. I love you, my lovelies! P.S. I’m proud of your patience. 

Get Hunger & Haw Haw Hai's simple, but spectacular recipe for Lemon Panna Cotta & Mulled Strawberry Trifle (click on image to enlarge)

Who Wants Meet A Millionaire & Chicken Schnitzel With Lemon Butter & Garlic Potatoes

Ross: Well umm I, I just never think of money as an issue.

Rachel: That’s ‘cause you have it.

-  F.R.I.E.N.D.S Season 2, Episode 5: The One with Five Steaks and an Eggplant

There’s this argument the husband and I get into all the time where he claims that I conceal key information. I don’t paint the whole picture. I keep him in the dark. In other words, I deliberately delay dishing out details.  My answer to that is this: bear your own burden, buddy! I’m not an external hard-drive, memorizing the minutiae you’re too lazy to log.

Put plainly, my policy is that even if I do possess poignant pieces of information, I will make them public when I please.

Plus, in my defense, he has a habit of barging in right while I’m basking in a bit of blank brain-time to conduct a quick Q&A. That isn’t cool.  It’s crazy.

But it’s been almost 4 months into blabbing and blogging and it’s just hit me that I have been holding something back. Don’t roll your eyes. I know that seems strange coming from someone who’s squawking 24/7, but when it comes to spilling saucy little secrets, stealth is more my style. Frankly, I find that awaiting the ideal opportunity to unload amplifies the intended effect of the information, but that’s a separate story.

Also, I’m a sadist who likes ceaseless suspense. P.S. I loved Scooby Doo, but, man, the blatant bad-guys were such a buzz-kill!

Anyways, in light of where this litany is leading, I think it’s time to divulge the dramatic little detail.

Or not. Told you, I’m a little twisted.

Some things are better left unsaid, right?

Jokes aside though, I’m absolutely enamored with the inappropriate. It says so right there in the title of this blog. The “Haw Hai” is a heads-up that I don’t really care for clamming up and I’m definitely not shy about sharing. And yes, tittering over taboo topics -jaw-dropping jokes, crazy confessions, bungling bloopers,  eww-inducing experiences - might be a tad *tsk* *tsk*, but it totally tickles my fancy.  

By the way, in case you’re interested, nothing makes people uncomfortable like a little honesty.

Anyhow, in the spirit of spilling all, I feel the need for full-disclosure.

Brace yourselves, besties and resties ‘cause I’m ready to reveal the real me.

Love To Love You, Baby & Sexy Spaghetti Bolognese

I love Valentine's Day. Think about it; an entire day dedicated to celebrating affection and the accuracy of Cupid's arrows. Awesome, right? By the way, all you Debbie Downers out there who want to cut me short with some cranky spiel about 'consumerism'; back off. This is about candles, candy, and cuddles. And if you can't come to terms with that, you have a little piece of coal for a heart. 

I do have a confession to make, though. Penning this post has been a pretty perturbing process and I deliberately delayed dishing out details because I had no desire to dampen anyone's day. Besides, as tempted as I was to talk about all the tingly tenderness that is love, I was stymied by a small speed-bump. 

No, no, I don't lack love in my life and I'm not lonely. But I am a little lost.

Why? Well, let's start from the beginning.

See, before I write a rant, I revel in a little research. What does that entail? Frankly, nothing fancy. Typically, I browse through Brainy Quote, wander through Wikipedia, and get down to some Google-ing. I also engage inane activities, lolling around listening to music and tinkering with tiny thoughts, trying to transform them into awe-inspiring inspiration...or at least an inkling of it.

Warning: Reading up on romance may result in feelings of incredible inadequacy. 

I can't compete with impeccable dialogues and daring declarations. I don't have the money to build a monument for my man. Or the patience to wait for prince or peasant, alike. 

So basically, all I drew from those days of dawdling were a big blank and a bruised ego.

On the upside, I found an unbelievable avenue for over-simplifying my adoration for mi amour. To sum up my love life, I require exactly two movie soundtracks; Dirty Dancing and The Bodyguard (by the way, I mean the one with Kevin Costner). Sure, both are cheesy, but they're also Grammy winners and in my book, that's pretty credible crooning. Besides, with Whitney's voice and Swayze's swagger - just give me a second to swoon. 

Here’s how it goes. It all began with Hungry Eyes. You know how it goes; he looked at you, you looked at him…cue the fireworks. I then mustered the muscle to ask him to Be My Baby. “Of course,” he said, and so began the Time Of My Life. Now, we’re happily hitched, and when I look at him I think, I Have Nothing Without You. And when he hugs and holds me close, all I want to tell him is, I Will Always Love You.

Told you, two soundtracks are all it takes. Cool, right?

The truth it, talking about things that tug at the heart is harder than I thought. 

Maybe that’s because even after several days of my internet invasion, I realized I know a grand total of two things about love.

The Myth of The Motor-Mouth & Outrageous Brownies

I know, I know. I said I wouldn't be posting this week, but I've gotten used to our comfortably cozy chit-chats. And really, what is life without a little whining, right?

When I'm sick, I'm a serious sour-puss. I turn into the Grinch; groaning, griping and generally being grumpy. And during these incidents of illness, all I want to do is listen to sad, sappy music and spill my sickly sob-story to every sorry soul in sight. Sometimes, I really savor sucking some sympathy out of people. This time was different, though. I came down with a killer cough, which pretty much left my voice-box out of commission. Know what that means? My signature chatter was silenced.

Talk about a sinister scheme to shut me up, right?

Not fun.

Anyways, now, in my suffering, I have no choice, but to use you guys as stand-ins. You might suffer. You might feel sapped. But I assure you, you won't be sorry.

First off, in case it isn't obvious already, I'm a talker. Admittedly, my listening abilities are a little lackluster, but if you're looking for buckets of advice, I can be your best buddy. In fact, I'm a total sucker for stories that need a little bit of sorting out. Maybe I should've been a psychologist?

The point is, when it comes to babbling on blindly, I can easily orate for hours.

I'll give you an example of what I mean, just so you're clear on the kind of joker you're dealing with here.

The Curious Case of the Peculiar Pakistani & The Super Simple Burger Bar

These days, there’s some electricity and excitement in the air as we slowly edge our way towards elections here in Pakistan. After a choking five years, there’s a collective chant for change across the country, and we finally have the chance to choose our change-maker. Actually, let me correct that, you have a chance to choose. I won’t be voting. Not because I’m lazy or lack the power of decision. The truth is I can’t vote…here.

See, I’m an American. Wait! Before you rise to clap and belt out the Star Spangled Banner in my honor, let me finish that thought.

I’m also a Pakistani. Wait! Before you pull out a gun and tell me I have the right to remain silent, please just let me finish.

What I really am is confused. Very confused.

It’s enough that I’ve never been sure what order those superlatives should be stated in. American-Pakistani, Pakistani-American? Frankly, both are a mouthful of awkward. But it’s seriously too much to bear that it actually matters.

Blame bogus Bush-isms (yeah, thanks for the “with us or against us” blabber, Dubya!) or put it on Pakistani politicians planting the seeds of prejudice, the point is, you either act like an American or play the part of a Pakistani. Trying to intertwine the two can leave you bordering on insanity and in some cases, can even be illegal (shout out to the dual-nationals holding public office in Pakistan!).

The thing is, I’m neither and I’m both.

Motherhood: The Truth About Cats & Blogs with Chicken Potpie & Buttermilk Biscuits

Making the decision to have a child–it’s momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." - Elizabeth Stone 

One of the great ironies of motherhood is that the second you think you have a second; you're already a second too late. And that's exactly why I've been on hiatus for almost 2 weeks. 

When I sat down to type out my thoughts, my 9 month old was peacefully playing with his blocks in the background, with only the slightest hint of the sniffles. Six hours later, he was nursing a full-blown fever and a nasty cough. As the doctor put it, "something viral." Almost a week's worth of down days later and he was in the clear. And, I thought, so was I.

Not so. A new crisis was crawling around in my baby's hair.

A lice infestation!

What followed can only be described as a hose-down of the entire household. Several days of sterilization later, a semblance of sanity was restored, and I finally sat down to spill.

When I began writing for Hunger & Haw Hai, I had a very loose idea of what I wanted this blog to be; an ode to fabulous food and an outlet for my frivolous frustrations. So when someone asked me if I'd be talking about motherhood, I nodded enthusiastically. Too bad the excitement inside me felt more like a freak-out setting in.

What did I know about being a mother?

My inner voice, that annoying little troll that never shuts up, chuckled.

The thing is, like everyone else, I come from an endearingly dysfunctional family (seriously, is there any other kind?). Both my parents are strong-willed, stubborn firecrackers. Basically, they're me, just a couple of decades older. My siblings? We're a tight unit too. Sometimes, I feel like we're all just different shades of the same person.

Collectively, we laugh, we cry, we fight, we hug, we make up and more than anything else, there's plenty of love going around. In short, we're a whirlwind of hotheads, holding on to each other, for better or for worse. Just one thing though, a tornado like that doesn't give you much time to dissect the dynamics of parenthood.

So as terrifying as this may sound, the truth is, most of what I know about parenting is stuff I've learned off the internet. The rest? My cat and this blog.

Let's pause here so you can go ahead and gasp.

In my defense, both my mother and sister live out of town and really, I think Nano's been out of the game so long, it just isn't fair expecting her to remember what it was like raising her runts.

Besides, as awesome as it must be to get grounded guidance 24/7, I'm awful at taking advice.

And so, feeling incredibly insecure about my child-rearing repertoire, I delayed penning this post as long as possible.

During pregnancy, I rode the roller-coaster of uncontrollable emotions, ranging from "Yeah, work that belly, you beautiful, bulging blob," to "Wow, I'm too irresponsible to be responsible for another tiny soul," and of course, the hallowed hallmark of expecting women around the world "OMG! I'm fat, ugly, and my husband is definitely having an affair."

I'll be the first to admit that I had no real or rational basis for any of these far-flung feelings. Hormones don't really have a reputation for being reasonable or rational, right?

And finally, my little slice of sweetness arrived.

Fast forward three months and I had lost most of the baby weight. Fast forward three more and I had lost most of my mind.

The Charm of Cheating & Blood Orange Mousse

Remember I told you I went to college at the birthplace of the Free Speech Movement? Yeah, that school is the beautiful University of California, Berkeley. There are a couple of cold, hard facts you catch on to pretty quick when you come to Cal. 

For starters, it's where Smart, meets Smarter. Feelings of insecurity and inadequacy are expected side-effects of attending such an awesome institution. Also, anything out of the ordinary isn't just okay, it's encouraged. Most importantly though, you learn the difference between a good education and a great education; a good education cultivates casual curiosity, a great education imparts an unharnessed eagerness to explore your options.

I was the lucky recipient of the latter.

It's the only rational explanation for  how I went from expertly manipulating the masses to regularly writing for such a small, specialized segment.

Of course, back in B-school, when I was busy being bred for the boardroom, I never thought I'd end up typing out tales instead of tackling target markets, but to quote John Lennon, "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans." God, I love him!

And life did indeed "happen", so here I am.

So what do marketeers and writers have in common? Simple. To succeed they need to be stellar story-tellers. In other words, they have to brilliant in the art of BS. This is how it works; we gauge your gullibility and scrounge up a story to sucker you in.

Case in point, I once convinced my brother that if he stuck his finger in his belly button, he'd be able to hear his own heartbeat. The poor boy sat there, serious, silent and still, for at least 5 minutes, hoping to hear the pump-a-thump of his heart, before I put an end to his pain and my perverse pleasure.

Granted, he's disgustingly easy to dupe, but you catch my drift.

To be fair, I'm not immune from idiocy either.

A long time ago, someone suckered me into believing there was a way to guarantee a great upcoming year; celebrate New Year's eve making merry in a way that mirrored how I'd like the next year to turn out. For example, ringing in the new year with waterworks was a bad idea, unless I wanted to experience random bouts of bawling over the next 12 months.

I took this sound sounding advice and honestly, this New Year's eve was the best I've had in about a decade.

What'd I do? I'll get to that in a second, but first let me tell you what I didn't do.

Life's Dirty 30 & Kung Pao Chicken Wontons with Sweet Chili Dipping Sauce

Do you make New Year's resolutions? You know, 'I'll work out at least 5 days a week,' 'I'll read more smart-people books,' 'I'll fly to the moon,' 'I'll stop partying like it's 1999.' Yeah, when I do that there's always a tiny voice in my head snickering, telling me, "Yeah, fat chance, sucker!"

Last year was different, though. There was all this hoopla about the world ending in 2012, so I figured that before I went up in flames, I'd make a couple of frivolous promises to myself. I mean, they do say you should live every day like it's your last, right? And since the Mayans were kind enough to do the math and precisely pinpoint when the clocks would stop ticking, I decided to keep it simple; I just wanted to have an awesome time before the apocalypse ate me alive.

Did it work out?

Absolutely!

This year, there were three big three's. I marked three decades of dawdling on this planet, my husband and I celebrated three years of marriage with the birth of our baby boy, and after three years of joblessness, I caved into the unconventional culinary career I've been contemplating since college. So yes, it's been a big, beautious year.

More than anything though, I've learned some life-altering lessons along the way. My words of wisdom might not be wow-worthy, mostly because they're obsessive observations, but reflection relaxes me, especially at end of the year. Of course, it would be kind of depressing if I only found one fun fact for every year of my existence, but I purposely kept this list current. It's not fair to curse you with my countless hours of contemplation. 

Santa's Little Helper: Muneeze Khalid & Her Gorgeous Gingerbread Cupcakes

God, I love Christmas. The carols, the chaos, and my personal favorite, the crazy consumerism. Come on, isn't that what it's all about? The presents? And the bigger, the better, right? These days though, I'm more of a "good things come in small packages" kind of girl. Probably because I stopped growing at age 10.

I'm small enough to fit into a suitcase. If that sounds like a stretch, I'd like to inform you that I have tried and tested my theory. Yes, I literally curled up into my 'case and had my college roomie zip me in. Yeah, that was fun for about five seconds. Then the claustrophobia kicked in.

All in all though, being tiny can be pretty terrific. So much so, that I seek out other small people, selecting them to be a part of my secret society, simply on the basis of size. What can I say? I'm fiercely loyal to other little people. 

This year, in the spirit of good will, sharing and of course, my psychological issues with baking, I've teamed up with a petite patisserie whose stunning, gravity-defying confections leave me speechless. And you know it's a feat to shut me up.