I met the Reverend Marchiene Rienstra in Lahore, West Pakistan, when we were both seven and she was Marty Vroon. (Now in our eighties, we are old friends.) We had mirror families: Eldest daughters, we were each followed by a brother, then a sister, then a brother. Both our fathers were missionary doctors who started and worked at Lahore’s United Christian Hospital. Marty’s mother was a nurse. My mother became our teacher.

And there similarities end. Marty’s family had already lived in the part of India that became Pakistan. They had survived the Partition, adapted to the culture, and often enjoyed a Pakistani menu. Suffering from dysentery, my mother could not tolerate spicy food. The only native dish ever served at our house was water buffalo hump, which tasted like ham. Or was it camel hump? I will not be providing instructions.

Before long, Marty was sent to Woodstock, a boarding school in India, but I still saw her when our families summered together in Murree, a small town in the Himalayan foothills. We first went to Strawberry Bank, a rundown building with a thunderous, leaking corrugated roof. We soon upgraded to Sands Home, a huge rambling structure that housed several missionary families. There, roaming fields and forests, Marty and I made daisy chains, chased monkeys and butterflies, climbed trees, collected pine cones, and spent raucous hours with our brothers playing Rook and Sorry or flinging a rubber ring over a net pitched in the courtyard.

After five years, our families returned to Grand Rapids, Michigan, settling at opposite ends of town and meeting only occasionally. Marty and I drifted apart. Thirty years later, recovering from my second divorce, I moved from California to the Lake Michigan shore and rented a cottage a short walk from the Rienstras. Our friendship was refreshed—now Marty and I both had children (me one, Marty four), advanced degrees, and careers. I often was invited for dinner. One day Marty made Keema. She whipped it up out of her head, and—pre-internet—it took me years to find a simple, doable recipe. Then I found The Varied Kingdoms of India, by Copeland Marks, and I’ve been making Keema (p.118) ever since. Dylan and Ann love it!

Keema
The thing to remember about Indian cooking is that it often has stages. Winging it is unadvised—only minutes separate these five steps, so I gather everything first so I’m not hunting for, say, the cumin with my right hand, while stirring away with my left. The recipe looks long but it’s not complicated if you lay everything out before heating up the pan (I use a wok). The setup below—right to left— is counterintuitive, because the far right is closest to my kitchen. Happily, I have decoded the worn recipe. If you’ve tired of the usual ground beef alternatives—burgers, Italian, Mexican—try Indian. You’ll like it!

Collect each of the following steps in a small bowl before proceeding. Line up the bowls in step order. Then….

1. Heat 3 TB oil (peanut or corn) in a large pan. Brown 1/4 c. thinly sliced onions for 2 minutes.

2. Add 1 tsp finely chopped fresh ginger, 2 finely chopped garlic cloves, 1/2 t. chili flakes, and 1/4 t. turmeric. Fry for 1 minute.

3. Add 1 lb ground beef, 2 TB chopped fresh mint (or 2 tsp dried), and 1 tsp. salt. Stir fry for 3 minutes.

4. Stir in 1 cup potato cubes, 1/2 c. water, 4 whole cloves, 2 cardamon pods cracked (or 1/2 tsp ground cardamon), and 1 1-inch piece of cinnamon stick. Cover the pan and cook over medium heat for 10 minutes.

5. When the potatoes are soft, add 1 cubed tomato and 1/2 cup peas, fresh or frozen. Cover the pan and cook on low for 10 minutes. Scatter fresh coriander over the top (I skip this) and serve with rice, dal, or bread.