This is as much good eating as he’s capable of now, even though he had learnt how to steam, stew and roast while a ship’s pantry boy, and to bake from the little kitchen job he’d had in the Somali boarding house he’d roomed in last year. He’ll eat some mince with a side of tinned sweetcorn for lunch and then mix the remainder with the last of the rice in the evening. Holding the mysterious Hindi-labelled spices up to his nose, he picks out cumin, turmeric and ginger-good enough-and spills a teaspoon of it over the lamb. He had bought kosher all the time in East London because he had a good butcher only a few doors down, and kosher is as good as halal, religiously speaking, but now, for some reason, it also tastes better to him. The plump, fat-marbled kosher mince begins to sizzle and brown in the pan and Mahmood shakes a teaspoon of chili powder into the oil.
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