Biryani was a complicated dish. Not so much that it would make him completely mess up, but enough that the finished product would have far more flaws than a dish he had made even a single time.
It all depended on how well he could execute this.
The dish's difficulty lay in having to grind and mix together a bunch of ingredients each to precise levels without ruining the dish. Rice is too soft and ruined. Too hard, ruined. Spices not grounded well, ruined.
He read multiple recipe books. Enough that he could be called an encyclopedia of recipes.
How many of them could he actually perform, though? If he was being real with himself, at most a bit more than twenty.
Biryani, he remembered a bit more clearly. He used to have a few friends who had invited him for dinner.
The taste was very distinct from the traditional American food his mom and dad made. So he always remembered.
