Many years ago, while getting dressed in my Karachi flat, I heard the announcer mention something he called Ball-tee in his plummy British accent.

Not having a clue as to what he was talking about, I paid him attention and discovered that he was referring to balti gosht, that great favourite of desi carnivores. According to him, it was also the preferred meal for British football fans after they had consumed many pints following a game involving their teams.

But more revealingly, the announcer solemnly informed his audience that the dish originated in the valley of Baltistan. I suppressed a laugh as I have been to the picturesque but poor area in Pakistan’s mountainous northern region, and am familiar with the shortage of fuel and meat there.

But this is a common attempt to romanticise the origins of balti gosht, or as the more commonly known karrahi gosht. Obviously, the wok-like pan used for its preparation has given both variations their name.

The street karrahi uses a lot of tomatoes that leave a distinct, thickish sauce ideal for dipping your naan in. I first came across the dish when I moved to Lahore in 1967 and was taken to Abbot Road, the home of takka-tak, or gurda-kapura. One guy there also did a wicked karrahi, and our mouths would salivate as we waited for him to serve us.

Mulling over the origins of balti gosht, the dish brings back fond memories of old friends

Abraham Joshua became a good friend in those days, and he knew a lot about Lahori street food. Also known as Kaka, he was the member of a distinguished Christian family. Sadly, he and his family have all migrated to America, and who can blame them? Many years ago, when I was living in Washington, I called Kaka for his karrahi recipe and he immediately obliged.

Recently, I thought I would cook it again, and once more, Kaka was more than helpful, sending me this recipe: