The Fine Art of Butchery & Other Bakrid Rituals

The festival of Bakrid sees the rare appearance of offals at a dastarkhwan on a celebratory day. Charity is the underlying narrative of Bakrid, and meat is distributed to the needy, leaving spare parts to be cooked or repurposed at home. The preparation of offals is labour-intensive and require the cooks (most often, women) to go to great lengths while cleaning and cooking. Taiyaba Ali’s recipe from her Lucknow home features offals as the hero ingredient of the festival, a fascinating counter-narrative to the idea of opulent Eid celebrations.

My mother speaks of my grandfather with utmost reverence, in a very dutiful daughter-in-law manner. But her tone gets most interesting when she recalls his eating habits — almost with in wistful awe of an unforgettable time, suggesting a bygone era of larger-than-life living. Her sentences very often begin with ‘Uss zamane me log aese kiya karte the....’

A Different Kind of Desi Ghee

Recently, in a conversation on cooking fats, she remembered that ‘Desi ghee ke parathe ka nashta unki ghiza me shamil tha;’ that he only ate parathas fried in desi ghee for breakfast, a ritual he continued even at 92, his last living year. Now this was no ordinary desi ghee. During Bakrid, buffalo bones were collected for their marrow, melted over high flame, then filtered and stored in jars for a year-round supply of ghee. (The crunchy meat bits, leftover from filtering, called churri, would be salted and passed around as a delicious snack for the rest of the family). A green cardamom or two would be added into the melting fat, to mellow the intense aroma.

I was never privy to this, even though he was alive well into my adolescent years. But what I do remember, in the days following Bakrid, were elaborate episodes where my mother, perched on a wooden high-stool, one leg crossed, rendering chunks of solid bovine fat into ghee, preserved to make meethi tikiya — a sweet, deep-fried shortcrust sweetmeat. She never perfumed this rendition with elaichi or anything else, though the dough for this sweetmeat would hold elaichi powder, so I suppose it did the job.  

The Rituals of Bakrid

Bakrid, which many people jokingly call Bakri-Eid because of the goat (bakri) that is sacrificed, is the lesser celebratory of the two main Muslim festivals. In truth, bakrid is not a festival; it is more an observation, where animal sacrifice is obligatory only to those who can afford it. The meat from this animal, mostly goat, or water buffalo in Lucknow, is meant to be distributed among the needy and less privileged, then to the neighbourhood and finally, whatever remains, to be shared with family and friends.

Butchers are in big demand on this day, as the only folk with the skill and knowledge to break down a full animal. At the start of Bakrid, men go to the Eidgah for namaz, and women ready a corner of the house butchering. Upon their return, Qurbani in the name of God is invoked, and the animal is slaughtered. An operations area is then readied, for hanging the goat post sacrifice, for portioning and packaging, and then assigning the children of the house on distribution duties. Small packets of meat, wrapped in newspapers or plastic, are sent out, still warm from the freshness of the slaughter. This often takes up most of the day and it is all hands on deck in the household.

The author (in a red cap) with her father, uncles and sisters

The process of breaking down the animal is intense; something we only realised when it when happened in our own homes. Going to the butcher shop to buy meat is the easiest part of consuming meat. I for one, was always intrigued by the butchering process, and would sit in my corner, watching closely until the very end. I was always annoyed to be interrupted by an errand that took me away from the scene of the butchery. The first few moments are of grief; letting go of the animal that was brought into our home. (My father would find our goat from a make-shift bakra mandi near the Bada Imabada, where people from villages and towns nearby would gather to make the highest bid on animals). Slowly, our emotions would move into interest in the animal’s anatomy, followed by admiration for the strength and skill of the Qasai (butcher) and the rhythmic sound of his cleaver meeting the seasoned wooden log that served as his chopping board.

The First Bakrid Meal is Offals

Gurda Kaleji masala

Mid-way through the operation, someone would suddenly realise it was lunch time. In a heartbeat, my mother would present a nashta (light meal) of gurda-kaleji masala and roti. This was always the first meal on Bakrid. It was also probably one of the rare occasions everyone willingly ate liver and lung meat. Now when I think about it, it makes sense: the meat is fresh and tender; mothers and grand-mothers had no time for an elaborate salan or pulao because there was further portioning-distribution-and-cleaning on hand. These offals, while perfectly edible and nutritious, were not the ideal cuts to gift — so they were consumed in-house.

Another olfactory dish that made its appearance in the days following bakrid was bheja (brain). More than its unique mouthfeel, it is the process of cleaning the brain of its blood vessels that makes this such a rare delicacy. If bheja was being cooked, everyone in the house knew about it, because whoever was given the task of cleaning it would not be happy with this herculean assignment — hundreds of tiny delicate threads to be pinched out from the grooves, without tweezers or any kind of specialised equipment.

I have never watched intestines being cooked, but it was a bakrid delicacy when my mother was growing up. She recalls her grandmother and house-help placing a line of pateelas (large pots) filled with water to thoroughly clean the intestines of any faecal remains; a process that could often take over three hours. Then the intestines would be chopped into small pieces and broiled with ginger and garlic paste, and tempered with mustard oil. After this, it would be bhuno-ed in whole spices, and a ginger, garlic and tomato paste over a slow flame, until the intestines were and become one with the spices.

But times have changed and dining has become sanitised. Houses have become too compact and constricted, to facilitate cooking such dishes. Even at my home, we don’t sacrifice a goat anymore. My mother takes a hissa (pay a certain amount to get a cut of meat) in the nearest madarsa, whose distribution also the madarsa authorities do on their own unless someone insists on doing it themselves. Eating offals or offcuts of meat can now be seen only on opposite ends of the spectrum: either you spot these exotic dishes on curated menus as ‘lost recipes’ making a come-back, or you’ll find them in the homes of those who ‘cannot afford to affect gustatory moralities.’ Homogenizing and romanticizing communities and their eating cultures is as easy as picking up a box of pre-cleaned, ready-to-cook packages of meat from the nearest supermarket saying ‘curry cut’. But it certainly takes more than one pair of hands to preserve or create cultural continuity; and often these hands and their labour do not get the credit where it’s due.

Bheja masala

RECIPE FOR TAIYABA ALI’S BHEJA MASALA

Ingredients
1 kg of goat brain cut into pieces, cleaned
300 g raw onion paste (more if you want the gravy thinner)
100 g ginger garlic paste 
1 heaped tsp turmeric powder
½ tsp coriander powder
½ tsp fenugreek seeds
200 ml mustard oil
Salt to taste
2 bay leaves
50-60 g curd
A handful of fresh or dried dill leaves to finish

Method
In a heavy bottom kadhai, heat mustard oil to get rid of its pungency and pop the fenugreek seeds and bay leaf.
Then fry the onion and ginger garlic paste till the oil comes on top. Add turmeric and coriander powder. Add whisked curd and cook till its well incorporated.
Add chopped brain pieces. Do not add water, it will cook in its own juices.
Mix well with the masala and cover and cook on a low flame till tender.
Sprinkle chopped dill to finish and cover the lid and simmer for another 5 minutes.

Taiyaba Ali is a chef and writer whose focus is homestyle Lakhnawi food. You can follow her work here.

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