Dearest food lovers,

We have a tradition in Lahore that is so integral to our weekend routine that we hardly pay it heed. What I mean is you will rarely have any Lahoris mention it on Facebook or Twitter.

It is a bit like a game show where preparation is paramount and you only get one or, if you are lucky, two attempts. My mum would start reminding us the night before to wake up before 8am (on a weekend!!) and my dad has the habit of saying “if you don’t wake up early, it’s not happening!”. In order to get me out of bed, my father dearest once doused me in cold water. He has gone to the lengths of doing a rather funny dance rendition of Stayin’ Alive, bribes, coaxing and at times even taking the serious approach of shouting. I must remind you dear readers that this tradition is certainly not academic, cultural, ethnic, professional or business. It’s very much Lahori.

The only science involved is the timing. If it is past nine in the morning then you have pretty much lost your chance. You must, I repeat must, wake up latest seven and get dressed with such speed that equals to scribbling during the last seconds of an exam. During all this time, my mother is clanking away in the kitchen collecting cutlery and paper napkins. When we all finally stumble into the car, the main gates are kindly opened and closed by the house guard who is aware of our rush all too well.

My father steps on the pedal on such a momentous occasion which he otherwise would consider rash and reckless. Like I said, timing is key. Weekend traffic jams in Lahore, as far as I remember, are exhausting. The car is squeezed and wedged tight in between other anxious cars who are sweating under the pressure of their owners. The roads are a cacophony of colourful swearing, honking and the traffic warden hopelessly trying to restore order with his whistle.

At our destination if it is past eight we will most likely face a sea of cars at the back of an old cinema in the heart of the city. The entire area has been converted into a car park and, like a popular restaurant on a Friday evening, there are hardly any spots left. We usually have to go around twice before a place opens up and with the stealth of a wild cat we have to pounce on it. After the car is parked, the show begins.

Because it is not respectful for young ladies to be flouncing all over the car park shouting for a waiter, my father automatically assumes the role. Let me tell you, it is no small feat to grab the attention of the most coveted creatures in the parking lot – the waiters. There are all sorts of ways to go about it. You can be the obnoxious person who honks and screams, the one who braves the heat to wait outside the car or like my dad sits until a waiter collects the dishes of the car parked next to us. They are such a tease. The waiter will wait on you for no more than three minutes and if you are slow he will disappear again. They never write down the order and mostly never forget anything as well.

The reason for such brilliance is because there is only one main thing everyone wakes up at seven in the morning for: halwa puri. I’ll explain what it is. Imagine a tortilla wrap deep fried. It is dripping with oil and you will quite honestly feel the slimy thing journey down in your system. It is accompanied with chickpea and potato curry along with yellow halwa. No amount of dabbing the puri can blot the oil, trust me I have tried. If the artery clogging calories isn’t enough, it is gulped down with sweet lassi. Yet, the entire combination of sweet and savoury is delicious.

The timing for the entire operation is crucial for two reasons. Mainly because this oily breakfast is served until eleven. But most importantly after nine the oil blackens and gets even more unhealthy. Let me explain. There is one giant frying pot which is set up in front of the restaurant and the sole purpose of this burning utensil is to fry the puris. Earlier you go, the fresher the oil will be. Ah, see?

I have lived outside of Pakistan for several years and rarely have eaten this meal. However, being true food lovers, my parents have found a place abroad which is owned by a Lahori and well, you can guess the rest.

Happy Friday,
Sania