I must have looked nervous, because Umm Khalfan softly remarked: “If the meat cooks beautifully, then surely good fortune is on your side.” But there I still was, reminding myself of what Bu Khalfan cautioned about the challenge of cooking a small lone lamb in the Tanoor. We were surrounding an underground fire pit, known as Tanoor, that has been sealed with mud to keep the heat of the burning woodfire and steam for almost 24 hours.
A photographer and I arrived in Hatta on a November noon to meet with the chef Saeed Albedwawi, also known as Bu Khalfan, on a cookbook assignment to document the 2 day process of cooking lamb in underground ovens. When I had asked around in Hatta on who would be the appropriate person to show me the process, all responses led to chef Saeed. Along with his life and cooking companion, his wife Umm Khalfan, they welcomed us warmly into their family farmhouse, where they host their guests, raise their livestock and goat breeds, and cook upon receiving orders from their neighbours in Hatta, all the way westward to Abu Dhabi, and everywhere in between.
What began as a hobby slowly became something more official over the past five years, though it still carries the feeling of a family practice rather than a business. The work itself stretches much further back than that. Both Bu Khalfan and Umm Khalfan credit their learning to their families and parents, from a time when foraging and cooking were collective acts done together across the landscape. Umm Khalfan herself learned much of what she knows from her late aunt, while Bu Khalfan now finds himself passing what he himself learned from his parents down to the next generation, including his son Marwan and their newly opened food truck that they run together. Yet even with the growth of their work, it remains entirely held by the family, without external help. As Umm Khalfan later reflected to us, “We were created on this earth to help each other.”
Back on the farm, we were gently ushered and seated in the majlis upon our arrival, with the tea and coffee thermoses awaiting to be poured as we waited for lunch. It wasn’t going to be the lamb tanoor on the menu today; we were so touched that the invitation was generously extended to us to have a family style meal before we begin the preparation and documentation process.
Over a hearty dish of Chicken Machboos, Umm Khalfan engaged us in conversation not dissimilar from ones I would have with my cousins after not having seen each other for a while. She maintained an air of familial friendliness that has eased us into a rolling banter. It slowly became difficult to distinguish where hospitality ended and familiarity began.
Ironically, it did dawn on us that we have not formally got to know each other. Amusingly, Bu Khalfan decided to remind us that we do need a round of introductions. Saeed Albedwawi is a chef, poet, and playwright who, by his own admission, is able to express himself creatively because of the support of his wife and children. Umm Khalfan’s role is the family rock, and she runs her own independent business in making traditional fragrances. Between running their businesses, passions, and raising their family, the tag-team quality between them has only appeared to soften them towards each other. Married since 1999, they have raised four daughters and four sons together, while also carrying the grief of losing one of their children, and have now become grandparents to their first grandchild while still in their forties.
Their closeness was apparent when seeing them move through the day without any of them saying what the other needed, and just watching them move in their own choreography. Bu Khalfan would explain something and Umm Khalfan would effortlessly fill in the details he missed. If Umm Khalfan preferred the setup arranged a certain way, he quietly adjusted it to her exact liking. Watching them move around one another felt almost choreographed, clearly set by years of adaptation, labour, patience, and love.
After lunch we accompanied him with our eyes to see just how he does it. We stepped over to the outdoor preparation area where the Wakheefa was prepared and layered carefully before being sealed shut. We hurried outside the farmhouse gate towards the pit where the burning woodfire had already turned into charcoal. In went the Wakheefa in a swift drop, and in a blink of an eye the lid was pulled to cover the pit and heavily covered with mud to seal it so no heat escapes.
We waited eagerly to see the final result. The truth would soon be revealed as the steam and smoke finally escaped their sealed warmth. The Wakheefa was pulled out carefully, spreading with it the scent of the earthy hopbush leaves that fused with the spices. Upon cutting the seams and relieving the woven pouch from its meaty burden a collective sigh of relief was let out as we saw the richly coloured doneness of the lamb, as Bu Khalfan lay it on a bed of hot rice mixed with fried onions and spiced lentils.
As we shared the fall-off-the-bone tender meat together, a moment floated between us as we silently but collectively agreed that the time and labour that went into this briefly shared enjoyment was well worth it. But something more than luck holds what the couple have built between them, and I couldn’t help but pick up on their sentiments of pride that they shared through glances of yet another successful outcome. Their learned craft from preparing the oven to spicing the meat, then cooking it is not something they take for granted, even after years of experience that is threaded into them by their ancestors. More than that, their closeness and connectedness seem to have evolved out of adaptability itself. From marrying young, to becoming young parents and now grandparents, they have arrived at their own recipe for understanding, labour, and love. A recipe that appears to nourish not only the people who gather around their food, but also the family effort that sustains it.
As the tanoor cooled and the dishes emptied, the sounds of the goats seemed to have gone up in volume, and the wind danced between the leaves along with the late afternoon sunlight. It was time to bid the couple farewell and bask in the majestic Hatta mountain sunset.
