Chicken karahi, roti, raita, and pickle for only $10.

Karahi takes its name from the wok-like pan it is cooked in: a heavy, two-handled steel vessel that sits over high heat and lets liquid reduce fast. The technique matters more than the recipe. A karahi cooked over low heat with the lid on is something else — a curry, maybe a korma — but not a karahi.

Ours starts with fresh tomatoes, not paste. Tomatoes are chopped (not blitzed), and they hit hot oil at temperature so they collapse into a sauce that is tomato-forward rather than masala-forward. Ginger goes in twice: first in paste with the meat, then again as julienned strips toward the end so you get both the cooked depth and the raw bite. Green chilies, slit lengthwise, add heat without grit. Salt, black pepper, cumin, coriander — the spice list is short on purpose. A karahi is supposed to taste like the ingredients, not the spice rack.

The chicken is bone-in, cut to medium pieces. Bone-in matters: the marrow releases into the sauce as the meat cooks, and the texture holds up to the reduction process better than boneless. Halal, from the same supplier as the rest of the chicken menu.

A real karahi finishes with three things layered on top: a handful of fresh coriander, a sliced green chili, and a final drizzle of the cooking oil that has risen to the surface. That last part is the visual signature — a karahi where the oil has not separated did not reduce long enough.

The $10 combo wraps the karahi with what it needs to feel like a full meal: four roti for scooping (karahi is a hand-eaten dish, not a fork-eaten one), raita to cool the heat, and a sharp pickle to cut through the richness. None of those are optional — they are how the dish is supposed to be eaten.

Why $10 and not the $16–22 you would pay at a sit-down Pakistani restaurant: we batch-cook, we deliver direct without a marketplace markup, and we do not carry the overhead of a dining room. The dish quality is not compromised by the price — the price is just what is possible without those costs.