Note — A Plate of Biryani & God of Cookery

October mornings in the UK are the kind where the entire outside world still feels freezing cold.

▪️ Coming back from university in the evening and stepping into the kitchen to prepare dinner for Hnin and me has quietly become the most peaceful part of my day. Today, instead of an ordinary dish, I took the time to properly slow-cook Chicken Biryani.

▪️ The moment you lift the lid off the biryani pot, the steam fills the entire flat with the aroma of warm masala, butter, and fragrant fried onions. The long-grain Basmati rice stays light and never mushy—each grain soft and separate, garnished with crispy shallots on top.

▪️ When those golden, slightly scorched bits of crispy rice crust from the bottom of the pot mix with sweet green peas, just looking at it is enough to make your mouth water—and taking one spoonful of sweet fried onions, crispy rice crust, and juicy chicken over steaming hot rice is enough to make you close your eyes and go completely still.

What makes it even more special is the chicken.
▪️ Slow-braised over low heat, the outside of the chicken is coated in rich masala with a golden-brown, slightly charred edge (that slight char & bite)—yet the moment you break it apart with a spoon and take a bite, the meat inside isn't dry at all. It is juicy, tender, and melts right on the tongue.

You probably remember watching Stephen Chow’s "God of Cookery" growing up—all those unforgettable dishes and wild kung-fu cooking moves. It really reminded me of him.

Cooking biryani and meat dishes at home like this made me notice one very important thing.
▪️ When I first arrived in the UK, whenever I bought standard plastic-wrapped chicken from the supermarket, no matter how long I marinated or slow-cooked it, the meat always released water and turned out tough and bland. Once I switched to buying meat from a Halal butcher, the difference in tenderness, juiciness, and how deeply the flavour sinks in was night and day.

▪️ I don’t eat it out of any religious obligation. As a regular consumer, I simply choose it because "this meat tastes undeniably better."

▪️ I remember talking with an older brother I respect and asking him, "Why is Halal meat so much more tender and flavourful?" What he explained to me was genuinely worth remembering:

"Halal isn't just about cutting up an animal. The core philosophy is that you only take its body to sustain yourself—there is no need to kill its soul."

▪️ In industrial factory slaughterhouses, animals see the ones in front of them being slaughtered and smell the blood. In their final moments, extreme terror floods their bodies with adrenaline and acid that seep into the muscle, leaving the meat stiff, tough, and ruined in flavour.

▪️ In true Halal practice, one animal must never be slaughtered in front of another, the blade itself is kept hidden from their eyes, and they are given water and treated gently so they don't panic, before the blood is completely drained. Even from a purely scientific perspective, meat that is free of stress hormones and cleanly drained of blood is purer—so when you slow-cook it in a dish like biryani, the flavour sinks all the way through and the meat stays remarkably tender.

▪️ The respect and craftsmanship you show toward the origin of what you eat ultimately shows up as flavour on the plate.

▪️ By the time the morning sunlight streams through the window, a warm plate of biryani is ready.
▪️ Sometimes happiness in life isn't anything grand—it can simply be a warm plate of biryani that you took the time to cook for the person you love. If you want to try making it yourself, look up "Matka Dum Biryani" and "Raita" (yogurt and cucumber sauce).

Since I don't follow any religion myself, I am just sharing what I have learned along the way. If there are any mistakes, let me know.

Tips for today — Try using Saffron in your biryani. It’s quite beautiful.

—
Kitchen notes.
High Wycombe, UK.
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