Tabarruk - Butthi
Muharram, the first month of the Islamic calendar, has arrived and much like other holidays during this pandemic, it will mostly be commemorated at home instead of in large congregations at a masjid. During the “months of mourning” which are Muharram, Safar, and eight days into the month of Rabi al-Awwal, Shia Muslims across the world hold majalis (gatherings, singular majlis) recounting the stories about the Prophet’s grandson Imam Hussain (A.S.) and his family & friends who stood up for justice and were brutally martyred at the Battle of Karbala in the 7th century AD. The women & children were later taken as prisoners and most were slain in the months that followed the battle. Let’s just say, Game of Thrones has nothing on Karbala, the “land of affliction” as it’s known. Majalis serve to keep the memory of Karbala, the sacrifices made, and the injustices fought against, alive year after year for over 1340 years. There are lamentations, sung poetry, speeches, and processions — some with seemingly endless platters of fruits, desserts, and snacks. And at the end of a majlis, tabarruk (a blessing through a food offering) is either served or given in a take-away bag for the attendees.
Certain Muharram tabarruks have become iconic dishes deeply tied to the nostalgia of this time of year.
The tabarruk part of a majlis was a moment to share a meal with your fellow community members, family, and friends after a long and emotional 2-3 hours. Whether you were rich or poor, old or young, very religious or a mild participant, everyone came together to break the same bread and partake in the blessing through food. Sometimes, there would be lavish spreads of all different kinds of foods like meat & vegetable curries, rice & naan, dessert, fruit salad, fresh fruit juice, and of course, piping hot chai. I remember an aunt had added blueberries to a tabarruk fruit salad in the mid 90s and we all thought that was avant garde. Sometimes, a pot of humble haleem — a spiced lentil and wheat porridge with slow-cooked lamb and condiments like fried onions, green chilis, sliced ginger, and lime served with pita bread — was another majlis tabarruk favorite, mostly because it could be made en masse to feed a large group of people. My mom has been serving this at her majlis for a few years now along with pickled carrots that involve a 3-day process of brining and cooking, a recipe she learned from a neighbor in England. And for dessert, a slow-cooked kheer (rice pudding) topped with almonds and pistachios. But before any of that, an appetizer of doodh ka sharbat, charcoal smoked sweet milk and almonds, is served to attendees as soon as they arrive. No one will admit it but everyone looks forward to the tabarruk after the majlis is done.
Whether you were rich or poor, old or young, very religious or a mild participant, everyone came together to break the same bread and partake in the blessing through food.
Much like any other holiday, since Muharram comes around once a year, many of the foods that are made particularly during this time of year taste a little more special during this time of year. (After all, eating a Thanksgiving feast in the middle of summer is just not the same, is it?) But unlike Thanksgiving when the same handful of dishes are made by everyone annually, Muharram tabarruks are open to whatever anyone hosting the majlis wants to serve — typically dishes from back home. As such, certain Muharram tabarruks have become iconic dishes deeply tied to the nostalgia of this time of year for me because over the years, aunts and uncles have served them again and again at their majalis. These are dishes that have been made in India for centuries and passed down from generation to generation. There’s my aunt’s qabooli, a rice and split Bengal gram baked pulao served with raita. Or another aunt’s butthi (or curd rice, see recipe below), a rice, yogurt, and green chutney combination that everyone would taste a spoon of from the same plate (blissfully unaware pre-COVID) before jetting to another house majlis. Or another aunt’s chongay, fried dough crisps tossed in a generous amount of powdered sugar. Or yet another aunt’s ande ke lauz, a sweet egg halvah that melts in your mouth. The list goes on and on. And although most of these dishes were made by the women in the family, men would also participate in tabarruk making and serving. Feeding a large amount of people is an all hands on deck type of activity.
Majalis that were hosted by mosques or Islamic centers had a need to quickly distribute tabarruk to a large congregation, so a take-away was usually handed to each attendee. These were paper bags filled with a small bottle of water, a piece of fruit like an apple or a banana, and a kabab roll inside. Sometimes, the kabab was on a fancy naan drizzled with a spicy green chutney, onions, and raita, but most of the time it was a pita folded in half with a schmear of pasinde (spiced minced meat) and a piece of mint or radish on the inside. Another masjid favorite was a spicy beef or chicken puffed pastry pattie. Even Costco croissants or donuts were fair game. Pretty much anything could be served and because there was a blessing tied to receiving and eating it, people would make a beeline for the tabarruk as soon as the majlis was over.
Digging into a kabab roll, sipping on chai that’s been slow brewing for hours while the speeches are going on, and finding a baggy of assorted dried fruit, nuts, and chocolate from the processions long after Muharram is over will all be sadly missed.
Majalis and tabarruks this year will be a wholly different experience. There’s a sense of community in eating collectively after a majlis and eating at home alone or with just your immediate family will be odd, to say the least. Digging into a kabab roll, sipping on chai that’s been slow brewing for hours while the speeches are going on, and finding a baggy of assorted dried fruit, nuts, and chocolate from the processions long after Muharram is over will all be sadly missed. This year’s experience will not be the same but perhaps through the pandemic restrictions, we’ll create new food traditions on a much more intimate scale.
Because I won’t be eating my aunt’s version this year, I learned how to make butthi with a few modifications of my own. It’s bright and refreshing served cold and can be eaten as a healthy vegan snack. And if you don’t have all the ingredients, feel free to experiment with whatever you have on hand. I’ve posted a few different versions I found below. Virtual blessings to you and your loved ones.
Butthi (Savory Curd Rice)
Makes: Approx. 10 servings
Calories: About 50 per ball
Time: 15 mins
INGREDIENTS
2 cups cooked basmati rice, cooled
1/4 cup Greek yogurt
2/3 cup fresh cilantro, with stems
1/3 cup fresh mint leaves
1/2 Tbs. lemon juice
1 garlic clove
1 Tbs. onion, chopped
3 small Thai green chilis
1/4 cup water
1/4 tsp. salt (to taste)
METHOD
Step 1
Blend cilantro, mint, lemon juice, garlic, onion, green chilis, water and salt together to make a chutney. Whisk in the yogurt and set aside.
Step 2
In a medium bowl, mix rice and chutney yogurt mixture until thoroughly combined. Roll into 2 Tbs. balls. Serve cold with mint.
Butthi Variations
Originating from northern Karnataka India, butthi (pronounced buth-thi) is a savory mixture of rice and yogurt but can also be made with vegetables such as cabbage, beetroot, and squash instead of rice. Here are a few different recipes I found online:
Traditional Butthi - Two different traditional butthi recipes.
Sambar Butthi - Sweet and spicy.
Beetroot Butthi - More healthy as there’s no rice.
Ivy Gourd Butthi - Spicy gourd and coconut butthi, also with no rice.
