Isn’t it funny how the memory of a particular food can instantly evoke the whole scene where you first ate it? The place, the sounds, the smells, the people, how you felt at the time. For me, this is triggered by meatballs.
Last week I wrote about my great-aunt Mama Gohar’s chaotically wonderful household – lots of children, beautiful aromas emanating from the kitchen, and little me stealing mini meatballs when she wasn’t looking. I remember being entranced by these simple, meaty morsels, and my lasting love for them was cemented right there and then in her 1970s, tan-tiled London kitchen.
My mum also has happy memories of meatballs. She always tells me that her father, who we called Baba Ghayour, a mild-mannered gentleman (with what my supper club diners often tell me were “old Hollywood moviestar good looks”) was very fond of koofteh tabrizi – giant Persian meatballs the size of an adult fist, made with lamb, herbs, yellow split peas and various dried fruits such as barberries and apricots. With a dollop of plain yoghurt on the side, these were his little indulgence. Clearly, he was a man of taste, and this penchant for meatballs runs in the family.
These days, I pride myself on being quite the meatball aficionado. I have long embraced meatball incarnations from the world over: they are one of life’s most simple pleasures and have many versions: Neapolitan polpette and Swedish kottbullar (both made with pork and beef), Vietnamese nem nuong pork and lemongrass meatballs – and my trusty lamb kofta of the Middle East.
Persians call them koofteh, the root of the word kofta. Turks call them köfte and Arabs say kefta; all slightly different pronunciations of a word for the same glorious creation. “Kofta” means “to pummel” in reference to the technique of working the meat so much that the proteins break down and the texture becomes silky-smooth. This is really the biggest difference between Middle Eastern-style meatballs and those of the west – no need for fillers – bread, flour or potato – to bulk the meatballs out. Typically, however, most Middle Eastern meatball recipes involve minced onion and ground turmeric as staple ingredients, marinating the meatball from inside out. Also, we always use egg to bind.
Fry them, grill them, roast them, barbecue them or even cook them directly in a sauce – however you choose to prepare them, you just can’t go wrong with meatballs. I make so many versions these days, typically dictated by what I have lying around in the house. I’ve been known to chuck in dried fruit, nuts, seeds, spices, herbs and a whole host of other ingredients.
My nephews, Cyrus and Darius, have been helping me make meatballs since they were very small. They are easy to make, so a great way to get everyone involved and make dinner a team effort. I firmly believe children should have a place in the kitchen at one time or another. My own mother never cooked but even I have my memories with her. She used to let me mess around with Betty Crocker cake mixes or stir boil-in-the-bag cod and parsley sauce. Hardly wholesome home-cooked food, but gimme a break – it was the 80s. What’s more, “easy” is a major factor when choosing what to make with kids – and few things are easier or more fun than making meatballs.
The last recipe for my Cook Residency is a little something I created with the festive season in mind. If I could make a kofta that sums up Christmas for me, this would be it. Inspired by the Persian love of dried fruit, I’ve used dried cranberries along with cumin seeds (one of Iran’s powerful favourite spices – the other is saffron). And – another salute to my Persian heritage – some orange zest for a fragrant, zesty kick. The yoghurt sauce not only makes an excellent accompaniment to a meatball but balances out the spices. If Baba Ghayour, were still alive, I’m confident he would have approved. What’s not to love?
Lamb koftas with cranberry, cumin and pine nuts with spiced orange yoghurt
This is humble, home cooking at its finest… what all the best meatballs – and memories – are made of.
Serves 4
3 heaped tsp cumin seeds
500g minced lamb
100g dried cranberries
2 large eggs
1 medium onion, minced in a food processor or very finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 heaped tsp ground turmeric
1 small (20g) packet of flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped – stalks and all
2 heaped tsp salt
A generous amount of black pepper
Vegetable oil for frying
For the yoghurt
250g thick Greek yoghurt
Finely grated zest of 2 unwaxed oranges
Juice of ½ an orange
2 heaped tsp ground coriander
2 tbsp olive oil
Generous seasoning of salt and pepper to taste
1 small packet (20g) of fresh mint, leaves picked and roughly chopped
To serve
Sumac
Tortilla wraps
1 In a preheated pan over a medium/high heat, dry-fry the cumin seeds to waken up/intensify their flavour; this will take a few minutes, but be careful not to burn the seeds– just toast them lightly.
2 Preheat a large frying pan over a medium heat (or high if using electric).
3 In a large mixing bowl, add together all the kofta ingredients along with the toasted cumin seeds, then really work the mixture thoroughly using your hands, pummelling and working the meat mixture through, making sure the ingredients are evenly combined.
4 Drizzle some oil into your frying pan – just enough to coat the base of the pan.
5 Make your koftas by taking a small amount of the mixed meat mixture – about the size of a ping-pong ball – and then roll each one into a ball. Then roll and flatten the ball in the palm of your hand into slightly elongated shapes and fry them for about 6-7 minutes on each side, until nicely browned and cooked through.
6 Mix the ingredients for the yoghurt together.
7 Season the koftas with sumac before serving in a wrap with the yoghurt drizzled over them.
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