I have a vivid memory of standing, shoveling, balancing both my plate and myself and glancing around for a forbidden-at-home-but-ok-at-a-dawaat-coke-but-it-could-have-a-cockroach-in-it when everything stopped and a clear thought shot through my head:

What’s happening, something is happening, I like everything about this.

There was not much that struck me at 8 years old just trying to navigate Karachi life with my accent and privileges and otherness but this made me stop just surviving and take note. The tenderness of the meat, the rice long and perfumed, the mouth feel and the constant surr surr sounds my mouth and mind are making since it’s really really mirchi but I can’t stop eating….what’s happening, something is happening, I love everything about this.

They say your tastebuds change every 7 years so the timeline tracks and this marks the moment I graduated into a new phase of life where I began to not just taste food but to take immense pleasure in those tastes. It was something I got known for. Wanting to eat and wanting to cook. A kitchen became a place I belonged, my love for food an identity that was mine.

Philadelphia. Nov 1999. On a whim I had said, come visit me (from Toronto); I’ll make a biryani. This was in the days before cell phones were ubiquitous. The days where getting any Indian groceries took time and planning. The days when I was quite broke. I was 22 years old. We had met online. I had helped my mother make a biryani before this and vaguely knew what it required. With all the confidence of the young, I went for it.

The rice was overcooked and the bottom a bit burnt.

He looked up from his bite and said: You have a way with rice.

He meant it. And that was all it took.

The line that launched a 1000 biryanis.

I started asking people what they thought the biryani origin story was (mine is from Hyderabad and nawabs).

A friend of mine, Nupur, turned my world upside down in 2017 by saying, oh, but Parvati (of Goddess fame) is from Central Asia and she’s the one who brought biryani to India. Nupur is from Lucknow and…well, one has to listen to someone from Lucknow when they say anything about food (#facts). Turns out a ton of folks had different origin stories (comes from Iran, comes from the Mughals, comes from outer space) and I couldn’t keep up.

I then asked what I thought would be an easier and more clarifying line of inquiry: what makes a biryani a biryani because OK Lucknow and #facts but they make a pulao and call it a biryani (and they KNOW it’s a pulao and yet they insist…WHY) but anyways…my head exploded. Let’s just say two years of trying to keep up with the wonderful ways in which people tried to convince me a biryani MUST have a certain ingredient to qualify or a method or an occasion or a person making it or or or…well, there is no singular biryani and chasing authenticity is not going to get us anywhere.

I came to realise that what kept my interest in the conversations was actually their story and connection about it. The best biryani they knew, remembered, wanted me to taste.

I am often asked where the best biryani is in NY and there is obviously only one reasonable answer to this question: my kitchen. My biryani. I make a Hyderabadi style with a Karachi-Bombay flavour. I no longer use a packet mix (shout out to the OG shan masala bombay biryani mix i love you long time and shout out to the new loves of my life, SpiceWalla, my biryani is 95% their masalas). I have recreated from taste memory and an amalgamation of biryanis I have loved.

My biryani is legendary in these (bklyn) parts. When I say this, everyone responds with, sure BUT let me tell you about the best biryani I ever had.

I sit and pick out all the mewa when Sid makes a biryani. He knows this. He puts in extra. Potatoes for him a blasphemy. He picks them out when I make him biryani. We are friends for life for a reason.

The Somalis have a biryani. I have asked no more. I have also not tried one yet. I am curious.

One of the first people I asked about what makes a biryani a biryani was my brother-in-law, Murtaza — my go-to on food and history (and art, culture — the finer things in life). Twenty years he’s been requesting, eating, and enjoying my biryani.

Tomato. A biryani has tomatoes.

I look at him in disbelief: YOU HAVE BEEN REQUESTING, EATING AND ENJOYING MY TOMATO-LESS BIRYANI FOR TWENTY YEARS, POOJA, WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOUR?

He’s Bohra. Biryani is biryani because of the tomato.

My mother will not eat my biryani and does not want me to make it for Eid or other dawats at her place because I will not peel or fry the potatoes. My parents have also banned chicken biryani from their lives. I do not know why other than buss we dont like it. Emotions run high (and clear explanations low).

I’ve made a biryani in BVI (I cooked love into it), Cyprus (I cooked home into it), Amman (I cooked community into it), London (I cooked my otherness into it) and of course, Brooklyn. I have cooked all of myself and who I happen to be that day in that moment into the Brooklyn Biryanis over and over again.

And Palestine.

I still can’t talk about it properly. It was Nov 2024 and it was an act of love for my friends working there and I have lumps in my throat still thinking about it but we ate and held each other close that evening. I was the only desi present but yet again, everyone had a biryani story.

Hi friends,

I’m so excited to finally launch this.

The Biryani Project is three things.

1. Living archive: It’s not about the recipes or authenticity but it’s about your story with biryani. The best one you ever had? The first (or last!) time you ever made it? Who makes the biryani in your home? Where’s the craziest place you had/made biryani? What happens to you when you smell biryani or see it on a menu? What does it remind you of? Who do you eat biryani with? What does biryani say about your history? What does it say about you? Click here to submit your story and read what others are saying. I love the idea of this living archive with themes of identity, migration, diaspora, authenticity, joy, belonging, family, friends and so much more. It’s also at the heart of what I love. Community and stories.

2. The biryani supper club. I’ll make the biryani, you come with your stories. Curated story telling dinners at mine in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, once a month. Follow me on IG EatingForTaste and this substack to know when they are happening (here’s the invite for the first one on 5th August, 2026). 15 people at each dinner. My heart is huge but my Brooklyn apt is not :)

3. The biryani conversations: I had wanted to find the authentic biryani and travel a route from South East Asia all the way to Somalia and beyond on the hunt for biryani but what I began to see every time I talked about this project was how much people wanted to tell me about their biryani. And how much more I wanted to hear their stories. So, take me to your biryani and we will film a conversation about you and biryani. 7-10 minute episodes where we sit and talk about all things biryani but really all things life. Invite me to sit with you (hellobiryaniproject@gmail.com) and it’s ok if it’s not in NY. I hope to get enough people in one location and then I’m happy to travel out there to film you (and you and you and you).

I’ll use this section of my substack as the central landing page for the project and keeping people updated. Feel free to explore the other bits. No need to pay to be a part of the Biryani Project. But do subscribe to get the emails and any notifications.

the biryani stories archive leads you to this link so that you can chat with each other in the comments section (it’s the best i can do just now). I didn’t want any missed connections or conversations to be lost so this is our workaround. Thanks for participating and building community this way. xo. Zehra