From the time of Alexander the Great, Afghanistan, that “graveyard of empires,” has repeatedly been invaded by foreign armies and destabilized by war, conquered by many but enduringly controlled by few.(1) From afar, through shadowy swirls of hashish smoke, many imaginations have imposed an air of haunting romance on the country as only outsiders can, documented in their rolls of film or in the pages of a travelogue. Not since the 1970’s has the country been a favored destination for travelers, and even then, it was only the hippies.(2) Except for soldiers, contractors, journalists and the occasional adventurous tourist, few dare venture there these days. Despite its daily appearance in the news, Afghanistan has managed to retain an exoticism reminiscent of that recounted by early travelers, long before words like globalization and ‘e’-anything existed.
Given its location along the Silk Road at the intersection of continents and its multiethnic population, the traditions of Afghanistan are storied and rich. At the center of it all, at once foreign and familiar, is the country’s cuisine, which has incorporated recognizable influences from Persia, the Middle East, Greece, Central Asia, China and India.(3)
In this still largely rural society, the people’s diet is very much dependent upon what is available regionally and seasonally. Staples such as wheat, rice, barley and corn form the base of the diet, and they are complemented by an assortment of fruits, vegetables and nuts.(4) One can begin to get a sense of the richness of Afghan cuisine upon seeing the diverse abundance of fruits and nuts grown in the country: melons, pomegranates, apricots, peaches, mulberries, cherries, apples, oranges and plums, alongside pistachios, walnuts, almonds and pine nuts.(5) When fresh fruit is unavailable during the winter months, it’s replaced with dried. In fact, the country is particularly famous for its grapes, which are usually dried into raisins. Since the Muslim diet forbids pork, halaal chicken, lamb and beef are the favored meats. Dairy products such as yogurt, cheese and buttermilk are also an important part of the diet.
From a personal perspective, one of the most foreign elements of Afghan cuisine is the extensive array of spices employed. To enumerate all of these spices is to conjure up images of the region’s ancient spice trade: anise, cardamom, cilantro, cinnamon, cloves, coriander, cumin, fenugreek, mint and saffron. Harmony of flavors is emphasized; spice is balanced by sweetness. A mortar and pestle is a necessity in the Afghan home; besides grinding spices, it’s also used for crushing garlic, onions and herbs.(6)
Most cooking and eating takes place within the home – Afghanistan traditionally has not had much of a restaurant culture. As in most societies, the kitchen is the women’s domain. Hospitality is highly valued; guests are treated with tremendous respect and offered extreme generosity. Mealtime, particularly when entertaining guests, can be quite an elaborate ritual. Women may spend the entire day cooking, since unexpected guests are often to be expected. The possibility of more mouths to feed, on top of the usual bounty showered on guests, makes it not uncommon to find enough food prepared to feed three times as many people as are expected.(7)
Diners are seated cross-legged on the floor, atop colorful cushions encircling a large cloth, called a daster khan, on which the food will be placed. While the men wait for the meal to be served, they sip on cardamom-infused green or black chai and nibble on sugared nuts. In place of utensils, hands are typically used for eating, so a child in the family will go around to each person with a pitcher of water and a basin for hand-washing. Once the food is ready, it is set out all at once, with care that the special dishes are within easy reach of the guests: nan, pilau, qorma (an onion-based meat stew), pickles, salads, chutneys and fruit comprise the usual spread.
Pilau, a dish of basmati rice combined with meat and vegetables, is one of the best-known dishes in Afghan cuisine and is typically made to celebrate special occasions.(8) In fact, Qabili Pilau, a variation that traditionally includes lamb, onions, carrots, raisins and a mix of spices, is often regarded as the national dish.(9)
Never having tasted Afghan cuisine myself but feeling adventurous, I decided to try my hand at Afghan cooking, and I ambitiously resolved to give the country’s signature Pilau a go. I figured that my entrée into this new realm of food was an occasion special enough to warrant the dish, and so I selected a recipe from Saveur magazine, “Kabul-Style Lamb and Rice Pilaf,” or Qabili Pilau.(10) Now, the addition of “Kabul-Style” to the name is probably one of those romantic flourishes, since the recipe was virtually identical to others I’d found for Qabili Pilau non-specific to Kabul. Still, the addition worked and a fantastical vision was spun – the capital city of Kabul is the former home of Afghan kings, and it is said that their royal chefs were recruited from all over the empire, charged with the task of melding together different cooking styles and perfecting authentic Afghan cuisine.(11) I was captivated.
Now, I must confess: As eager as I was to faithfully recreate this dish, I could not bring myself to overcome my aversion to lamb, particularly in large chunks and pervading every grain of rice as this dish entailed. So, in its place, I quietly slipped in the boneless, skinless chicken breast ubiquitous in the American diet, knowing full well that it lacks the fat content and strong flavor of lamb. In my defense, chicken is “the most common and abundant of meats” in Afghanistan.(12) But anyways, to resume on my foray into Afghan cuisine –
After picking up a small package of basmati rice, a yellow onion, some carrots, ground coriander and ground cloves from the store to supplement what I already had at home, I set to carefully following each step in the recipe for Qabili Pilau.
The rice is first allowed to soak for at least twenty minutes to ensure that the grains do not stick together when cooked. The generous chunks of meat are then browned in a large, heavy-bottomed pan, and the same is done with the chopped onion. Together, after some water is added, the onion and chicken are left to simmer. In Afghan cuisine, food is often cooked slowly so as to draw out all the flavors of the ingredients. When the lid is raised after an hour of simmering, a rich, caramel-colored broth is revealed. The chunks of chicken are removed, and the rice, as well as a mix of coriander, cinnamon, black pepper, cumin and cloves are added. With a few more cups of water, the rice is allowed to cook until fluffy. Finally, it’s topped with the chicken and sautéed carrots and raisins, along with some more of the spice mixture. The entire process takes more than two hours, but the heaping mound of Pilau is reward enough.
When I stick my face in my bowl and inhale, the aroma is deep and warm, earthy and soothing. I can see that every grain has been flecked with the ground spices, and shoestring carrots peek out from the mound. In my mouth, each grain of rice is soft but distinguishable, and all have been infused with the meaty flavor of the chicken broth. The onions have virtually melted away, but they, along with the plump raisins, slightly caramelized carrots and sprinkling of cinnamon, add sweetness to the dish. Melded together, the spices are mild and almost impossible to tell apart, but I can detect a smoky finish – cumin, the likely culprit. A gentle tingling lingers in my mouth, the aromatic spices balancing the sweet notes. As expected, dry chunks of chicken stud the rice like land mines, but even they cannot ruin the otherwise perfect dish.
I deem this jaunt into Afghan cuisine a resounding success. I am surprised by how quickly my senses have taken to the unique flavors of the spice blend, by how comforting a good whiff of the complex aroma is. I begin to grasp the intricacies of Afghan cuisine and its varied influences – the sensations seem vaguely familiar and yet stimulatingly new; I recognize certain ingredients, terms and philosophies in the cuisine, and yet they are combined in a way that produces unfamiliar results. All this thinking is too much though, so I close my eyes, inhale deeply and savor slowly.
(1) Helene Cooper, “Fearing Another Quagmire in Afghanistan,” New York Times 24 Jan. 2009, 09 Feb. 2009 http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/25/weekinreview/25cooper.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink.
(2) Joshua Hammer, “The Mysteries of Kabul,” New York Times 21 Jan. 2007, 08 Feb. 2009 http://travel.nytimes.com/2007/01/21/travel/21kabul.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink.
(8) Sher Dil Qader, “Rice Pilaf with Lamb, Carrots and Raisins,” Gourmet, Oct. 2007, 09 Feb. 2009 http://www.gourmet.com/recipes/2000s/2007/10/rice_pilaf_with_lamb.
(10) “Kabul-Style Lamb and Rice Pilaf,” Saveur, Issue No. 109, 07 Feb. 2009 http://www.saveur.com/article/Food/Kabul-Style-Lamb-and-Rice-Pilaf.
(11) “Afghan cusine,” Wikipedia, 06 Feb. 2009 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Afghan_cuisine.
i had leftover carrots, so i made carrot-apple-raisin-blueberry muffins for breakfast, loosely based on this recipe.
