Fatema’s kitchen gave us much more than butter chicken recipe
“Wear a shirt you can get dirty, bring a cocktail if you like, and know that you can’t wear your shoes.”
When my wife provided those instructions for our date night, I was more than a little intrigued. Arriving at the end of a cul-de-sac in Brentwood, my wife let me in on the surprise. “We’re going to learn to make authentic butter chicken.”
By the end of the evening, I had gained much more than a delicious recipe.
Fatema Chaklasi, also known as the Butterychick, greeted us at the front door with a huge smile. I’ve taken cooking classes before, but this was different. Joining someone in their home is such a warmer experience than a non-descript test kitchen. I expected others to join, but it was just us.
How my wife and I fell in love with Indian food
Walking into someone else’s kitchen is an intimate encounter. My family’s kitchen has always been the heart of our home. Fatema’s kitchen is no different. Thankfully, she broke the ice with a string of puns and jokes that I recognized quite well as an aficionado of dad jokes.
My wife and I first discovered our love for Indian cuisine at Maharaja in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, while I attended law school. Neither of our families are particularly adventurous from a culinary perspective, so we felt rather exotic darkening the door of an Indian restaurant.
The host graciously walked the two clueless newlyweds through the menu and suggested the safe choices of chicken tikka masala and murgh makhani, or butter chicken. We ordered both. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Over the years we ventured through chicken 65, mixed vegetable pakoras, pani puri, every korma imaginable, and more than a few dosas.
But we always evaluate an Indian restaurant by our first culinary loves.
What better date night than to learn how to cook butter chicken from a Mumbai native willing to host us in her home and walk us through her mother’s recipe?
“Wash your hands frequently,” she began. “I don’t mess around with food safety.”
As we began, Fatema let us know why she teaches people to cook Indian food in her home. “I want people to embrace Indian culture and that really comes through in our food,” she said. More specifically, she recounted how one of her prior workplaces ordered lunch regularly. Over time, the day for Indian cuisine phased out because people weren’t willing to try it. That didn’t sit well with her, so she decided to do something about it.
“People often misunderstand Indian cuisine or feel overwhelmed and misconstrue it as being overly complex,” she noted. The class quickly dispels those thoughts through entertaining education and a hands-on collaborative cooking experience.
“I pursued the Indian Dream which is pursuing the American Dream,” she quipped, recounting her life’s trajectory. Over the course of the evening, we learned about the different regions of India specialized in different Indian dishes.
When we asked Fatema about her preferences for the best Indian dining in the area, her praise was muted. Her husband, Murtuza, mentioned they often travel to Atlanta for their favorite dishes. Fatema did however suggest that the seasonal menu changes at Tailor Nashville are a calendared date night for the couple.
On Indian cooking, ‘the spices are everything’
As the chicken simmered in the ghee, Fatema explained the various properties of butter and why trying to cook with salted sticks ironically poses challenges for the execution of butter chicken. With no formal culinary experience, the self-taught chef provides an accessible master class on spices and methods used in Indian cooking.
The aroma of the dish was intoxicating, and Justine and I were eager to get to the part where we could sit down and eat. A serious look came over Fatema’s face. “Do not rush the roux.” She meant business.
While we waited, she took the time to teach us about the intricacies of Indian spices. Opening her decades-old spice tin that her mother had given her, we ventured through kasuri methi, garam masala, coriander, turmeric, and red chili powder. She let us know that, if we were going to cook Indian at home, we needed to get the spices from an Indian market like Patel Brothers. “The spices are everything,” she said, speaking of them as existential necessity.
As she set the table for dinner, Ali, her son, performed a magic show with playing cards. We could tell he was a bit nervous, but I could sense Fatema’s pride from behind the kitchen counter. He walked us through his various tricks, and the cards magically appeared on demand. As a father, I recognize the importance of encouraging children to take on challenges. Performing in front of strangers is at the top of that list. It was just another connection point in the night’s lesson.
We were focused on the food not our phones
As we sat down to the dinner we prepared under Fatema’s guidance, the family, and culture blended as perfectly as the piping hot dish before us. The only downside was that the dinner set a nearly impossible standard for our future Indian culinary adventures.
For a few hours, my wife and I slowed down enough to have a conversation with someone new. We learned a new skill that requires patience to execute well. Our hands were occupied for the evening, so our phones were not. It reminded me of the gatherings long ago in my mother’s kitchen where both dinner and relationships took shape.
I realized what my own kitchen could be when my family takes the time to invite others to our table. Cooking from the heart turns simple cuisine into community. We could all use a little more of that. As we departed Fatema’s house, we left with some spices for our first attempt at butter chicken without supervision. Maybe the spices really are everything.
USA TODAY Network Tennessee Columnist Cameron Smith is a Memphis-born, Brentwood-raised recovering political attorney who worked for conservative Republicans. He and his wife Justine are raising three boys in Nolensville, Tennessee. Direct outrage or agreement to smith.david.cameron@gmail.com or @Dcameronsmith on X, formerly known as Twitter. Agree or disagree? Send a letter to the editor to letters@tennessean.com.