Delicate. That is how it looks like. With its supreme foundation of spices which boost its already vibrant spectrum of colours, the delicacy never fails to twist people taste buds, hooking them on this addictive drug.
A dream come true; that is how it tastes like. Once you deliver it your mouth, an extravaganza of flavour begins to accumulate around the tongue. The eyes close, the lips involuntarily smile, and the brain drifts off into hibernation, having not the willpower go withstand the vivid tang.
But how would it smell like? I have not the words, nor the brain capacity to dress the smell in clothes sewn of the best adjectives out there. It smells of rainfall, it smells of hot coffee. It smells of mountain salt from India, it smells of seaweed from the depths of Niagara Falls. It smells of everything, it smells of nothing at all. The problem, fortunately (yes fortunately), is that it smells so unreal that human words cannot satisfy the description. The alien combination of spices from every corner of the world creates such a concoction that they are chemically inseparable. The cocktail bursts open in the mouth, initiating a disco party that lasts until the bite does.
Pity. That is what I feel when I hear someone saying they have not yet had the honour to taste this godly dish. To my taste buds, it tastes like heaven itself. They rejoice and celebrate when this dish comes into existence. The teeth merrily grind and tear through the soft, honest seeds, extracting the absorbed juice. Even the oesophagus transports the gobble of deliciousness to the stomach with tears joy.
And what else could my description relate to other than the grandmaster of them all? Biryani: ring a bell? It is the dish that brings tears to the manly-est man, happiness to the every suicidal heart… And warmth under the coldest winter nights.