Ever since I could remember, I've described Eid as our Muslim version of Christmas. We get together with family and friends, receive gifts (usually in the form of crisp banknotes) from our elders and celebrate by dressing up and eating our way into serious food-induced comas.
Many of the similarities between our festivities don't end there. After the end of a month of fasting (Ramadan), Eid al-Fitr is celebrated in many different ways worldwide.
My experience as a Bangladeshi Muslim growing up in Melbourne involved waking up at the crack of dawn, showering and wearing the new salwar kameez traditional outfits my mother bought us each year. Back then, it was difficult to source South Asian attire in Australia, so Mum would drive us to the small business owners who sold Indian outfits from their homes or, more excitingly, make the trip to Dandenong to the iconic (and only) Pakistani fashion house, Roshan's Fashion. On a nostalgic note, this year I took my own six-year-old daughter back to Roshan's Fashion where she picked out her Eid salwar kameez with matching churis (bangles). It completely warmed my heart to see the same owner, now a much older man, whom we all called chacha (uncle). And of course, keeping in line with tradition and culture, I haggled a little and asked for a discount.
Every household arguably makes the best shemai and every mother arguably has the best recipe.
After getting dressed in our new clothes, my sisters and I would accompany my father to the mosque to join the congregation for Eid prayers. The morning would buzz with excited children and families, and I loved seeing all the special outfits that were on display from around the world. There were many South Asians dressed similarly to my sisters and me. Their countries of origin are distinguishable by the cut of their salwars or the workmanship of their kameez. I loved seeing the beautiful headdresses on women from various African nations, the glamorous Middle Eastern burqas and the embellished ensembles worn by Southeast Asians. It was a feast for the eyes and every year I found a new best friend to pray next to and play with till my father finished exchanging the customary kola-koli with everyone, which involved shaking hands and hugging each other, proclaiming "Eid Mubarak!". 
Interestingly, it was not till decades later, after I got married, that I learned that traditionally, women in Bangladesh don't pray at a mosque or in a congregation on Eid morning. My mother never attended the morning services with us either. Instead, she prayed at home and got dressed in a beautiful shari (saree) before she laid out the banquet for guests we would receive throughout the day.
Preparing shemai at home is such a joy. Source: Supplied
Our home in the 90s was somewhat of a meeting place for many Bangladeshi and Indian families celebrating Eid. My parents, being among the earliest Bengali migrants in Melbourne, opened up their home for the then-small community to conjugate after Eid prayers. This became a tradition that still stands to this day. Customarily, guests during Eid are not necessarily invited over, like you would for a dinner party. Rather, people go house hopping and drop into their friend's and relatives' homes throughout the day where they are met by a delectable spread. For my family, it meant putting out a full gamut of traditional dishes from 10am to well past midnight.
My parents would start cooking the day before and into the early hours of the morning. Nothing was catered back then, possibly because it was untraditional but also unavailable. The night before Eid, my sisters and I would be the sous chefs in a very regimented kitchen run by my parents that needed to churn out food for at least 200 people.
I can tell you, none of us siblings wanted to pull the short straw of having to peel a 10 kilo bag of onions, or grate 5 kilos of carrots for the gajar halwa.
Shemai is a staple Eid dessert. Source: Getty Images
The night before Eid, known as Chaand Raat, translating literally to Moon Night, is the night millions of Muslims around the world adorn their hands with henna. So, to keep tradition, we sisters would take turns chopping, slicing and frantically drying our decorated henna hands on a heater.
As we got older, some of the actual cooking responsibilities were handed down to us, which is where I thrived. I remember taking creative licence with my mother's traditional recipe for doi bora, a lentil dumpling soaked in spiced yoghurt, or the marinade for my father's coveted tandoori chicken. This was often met with utter distraught from my parents, but I did over the years manage to sneak a place for it on our Eid table for my tweaked dishes.
If there is one dish synonymous with Eid day, found across every Bangladeshi household, regardless of economic status or region, it's this one.
There were, however, a few dishes that could never be messed with. One of those were shemai. If there is one dish synonymous with Eid, found across every Bangladeshi household, regardless of economic status or region, it's this one. Known in parts of South Asia as sheer khurma or seviyan, shemai is made by condensing milk over a stove for hours. It's flavoured with cardamom pods and sugar, and includes toasted vermicelli, nuts and ghee. Like many iconic dishes pinned to a special celebration and attached to our core memories, every household arguably makes the best shemai and every mother arguably has the best recipe.
I too would like to throw my hat in this ring: my mother makes the best shemai. Even to this day, no matter how far my Masterchef AU experience has taken me or my constant experiments as a chef, I cannot top my mother's delectably creamy, luxuriously sweet and refreshingly fragrant recipe for shemai. So to celebrate this special occasion, while I take a trip down memory lane and share with you my childhood Eid experiences, I would like to also share with you, my mother's recipe for a quintessentially Bangladeshi Eid delicacy.
Make your won with my recipe below. Source: Supplied
Shemai
Makes 4-5 bowls
Ingredients
- 100 g vermicelli, broken into pieces for roasting
- 1 tbsp ghee
- 2-3 cardamom pods, split open
- 1 litre whole milk (plus extra if needed)
- 4-5 tbsp sugar (adjust sweetness to your taste)
Method
- In a tall pot, heat the milk on low flame for the better part of an hour or until the milk has reduced by half.
- Add the sugar and cardamom pods and let it gently simmer for at least 20 mins to infuse.
- Meanwhile, in a frying pan, melt the ghee over medium heat and roast the vermicelli for up to 5 minutes until it turns golden. Take off the heat once it's done.
- Once the milk and sugar have combined and infused, pour in the vermicelli and fold in.
- Continue to cook for 5 minutes over medium flame. Keep a watchful eye on the shemai at this point because the milk has a tendency to split or burn. It doesn't take very long for the dessert to thicken.
- Garnish with toasted pistachios or slithered almonds, sultanas and a dash of rosewater. Serve immediately to enjoy hot or set in a glass bowl overnight to form a thick milk skin.
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