With norinj pilau he does the work of washing, drying and peeling the oranges, leaving as much of the white membrane behind as possible. Then he cuts the peels into thin strips with a razor blade and boils them three times, as if performing a fairytale task. Each time he drains the water and refills the pot. It’s a time-consuming method of ensuring that most – but crucially not all – of the bitterness is leached from the peels. After the last boil, he stirs in sugar, saffron and cardamom. The scent of honey and white flowers spreads through the house. The sugar thickens into syrup and is set aside while the skins, now soft with a jewel-like sheen, are left to dry.
Meanwhile, Shazia braises the lamb and soaks the rice, gently massaging the grains to release the starch. Her daughter, Shahla Naimi, who lives across the country in Queens, says the greatest compliment her mother can give another cook is, “Your rice is excellent.” In the end, lamb and rice are made one, along with the liquid fat that gives the grains a shine – except for one cup of rice that is simmered separately with the orange peel syrup, to be smeared over the top like spilled sun.
All the while, the 1956 movie “The Ten Commandments” can run in the background, alongside the music of Ahmad Zahir, the beloved 1960s and 1970s Afghan pop star who married folk songs, Persian poetry and electric guitar, and whose sideburns and swooning audiences earned him comparisons to Elvis before his untimely death at age 33 (in what many believe was a government-sponsored assassination).
Today, Shazia has her own norinj tree, grown from seeds brought by a cousin from Afghanistan. Shahla’s husband, Ethan Frisch, whom she met while working for a humanitarian organization in Kabul, learned how to cook the peels while visiting his in-laws two years ago. A founder of the Burlap & Barrel spice company, he’s the cook of the bunch — Shahla was always “too busy studying” to learn, her mom says — and he pitched her mom the idea of writing her recipes down. “I scrambled after her into the kitchen while she cooked,” he recalls. “It was fantastic,” says Shazia. “These were some of my happiest days.”
Later, back in New York, Shahla developed an appetite for Afghan food – she turned out to be pregnant – and Ethan was able to recreate her mother’s dishes for her, such as bamiya (okra) and kecheri quroot (sticky rice and lentils with meatballs). and yogurt). After their son was born, her parents flew out with a giant container of frozen aushak (leek spring onion dumplings). “And nine pomegranates,” adds Shahla. The orange tree had no fruit yet, but the next time her mother promised: norinj.
