Uzbekistan on a Plate

 

(This article first appeared in the 10th April 2022 issue of Deccan Herald newspaper's Sunday Herald section on page 18 https://www.deccanherald.com/sunday-herald/sh-top-stories/uzbekistan-on-a-plate-1098430.html)

Samarkand—Central Asia's Jewel

Imbued with that quintessential mix of exotic Central Asian grandeur and unrivalled beauty, along with being important pit stop on the ancient Silk Road, Samarkand is one of Uzbekistan’s greatest cities.

By Raul Dias 

For most travellers to Uzbekistan—that elusive, exotically uncharted, former USSR country nestled in the very core of Central Asia—the historic city of Samarkand is one of the first places they visit. But not me. Saving the grandest city in Uzbekistan on my week-long travel itinerary for last, Samarkand with its world-class monuments and unrivalled hospitality proved to be the proverbial cherry on my Uzbekistan trip’s cake! A city so alluring that I actually came back to it the same day I left it. Confused? More on that a little later...

Taking the evening Afrosiyob bullet train from another Uzbek cultural stronghold, aka. the city of Bukhara, en route to my hotel in the heart of Samarkand, I was rewarded with the sight of the greatest of all the city’s calling cards—Registan—bathed blushing pink in the soft light of the setting sun. But I’d have to wait till the next morning for a proper introduction.

Monumental Brilliance

Named just like the Hindi word for desert, the Registan Square is undoubtedly one of world’s most beautiful squares. No wonder it is called the pearl of Central Asia. The square consists of three buildings that form a part of the beautiful architectural ensemble that it is. The Ulugbek Madrasah, the Sherdor Madrasah and the Tillya-Kari Madrasah attract scores of tourists and newlywed Uzbeks who come here to take their wedding pictures with the gorgeous turquoise tiled backdrop of the madrasahs.

The day I was there, I happened to chance upon five wedding parties jostling for that perfect frame in front of the majestic monument. All caught in a blinding flurry of white tulle with the heady fumes of incense and perfume swirling around. 

A short walk away, the Gur-e-Amir Mausoleum was next. As the family vault of Uzbekistan’s greatest hero, the Turco-Mongol conqueror Amir Temur and his heirs, it was built in 1404. Interestingly, I was soon met by a rather chatty security guard, who, on learning I was from India, told me that it is believed to be a prototype for two well-known Indian monuments: the Humayun Mausoleum in Delhi and the Taj Mahal in Agra. Touché. 

Call me morbid, but I simply had to visit the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis and one of Samarkand’s most mysterious and inimitable architectural gems. This tomb complex is a unique one consisting of eleven dazzling shrines covered in the typically Central Asian turquoise porcelain tiles, each dedicated to a noble man or woman, including Kusam ibn Abbas, a cousin of the Prophet Muhammad. A short walk from the complex, the Bibi-Khanym Mosque is the well-preserved cathedral mosque that according to a legend was named after Amir Temur’s beloved wife.

Flavours Exotic

All that walking about simply had to be rewarded with a meal. And so, off I was to the compact Siyob Bazaar that sits adjacent to the Bibi-Khanym Mosque. The main, covered section of the market is divided into various sections selling meat, pickles, fruits, vegetables, and dairy along with the salty sheep’s milk cheese called kurt. The perimeter of the market is lined with bakers selling round loaves of bread from tiny little prams. Called non, these breads are a Samarkand specialty that both locals and visitors love to munch on as they shop. 

As for me, I kick-started my foodie innings with a juicy lamb and onion somsa—which is similar to an Indian samosa, but with a flaky, puff pastry shell—that I bought from a small hole-in-the-wall shop lining the main market area. This section also houses several souvenir shops selling everything from beautiful ikat printed winter jackets to Russian fur hats called ushankas to beautiful ikat printed platters called a lagan, one of which I am now the proud owner of! 

For mains, I wolfed down a plate of fragrant plov or osh at a nondescript market café. Very similar to a spice-bereft biryani, where cumin-dusted pieces of lamb are stewed with sweetened carrots and rice, the plov is served with boiled chickpeas and slices of horsemeat sausage called kazi that I actually loved the taste of. This was then washed down with a salty lassi-like yogurt drink called ayran. 

Encore Worthy!

There’s a famous proverb in Uzbek that when translated into English says “leave alone one trip, even one lifetime isn’t enough to truly appreciate the beauty of Samarkand”. When I first heard of it, I brushed it aside like one often does of similar sayings with a chuckle. But little did I know that I’d be given a dose of it all too soon.

Scrambling to take the same Afrosiyob bullet train to the Uzbek capital of Tashkent where I was to board my flight back home, I bid Samarkand a hasty adieu at its spotlessly clean train station. Clutching in my arms several packed non breads to give as edible souvenirs to friends and family, I boarded the train and managed to make it to Tashkent in time to catch what was to be my direct, non-stop flight to Mumbai. 

And while Mumbai was ultimately my final destination, a medical emergency on board half an hour into the flight had us make an hour-long stop en route to... yes, guessed right—Samarkand. A city that apparently couldn’t have enough of me, and I, enough of it!

(An edited version of this article first appeared in the March 2021 issue Business Line newspaper's BLink section online https://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/takeaway/samarkand-shines-bright/article34004238.ece)

‘Non’ Negotiable!

A distant cousin of the Indian naan, Uzbekistan’s revered flatbread called non is that all-important axis around which almost every aspect of socio-cultural life in the Central Asian country pivots—from its bread-related folklore to its myriad regional iterations.   

By Raul Dias

The announcement over the PA system has just been made. It’s precisely five minutes to go before Uzbekistan’s pride and joy, the superfast Afrosiyob train service from the capital Tashkent to Bukhara is to pull up at the Samarkand Railway Station for its much-anticipated 15-minute halt. Suddenly, there’s a palpable sense of anxiety mixed with excitement in my compartment as the startlingly modern glass and steel façade of the station comes into clear view.
A phalanx of co-passengers is already crowding the doorway, ready to leap out onto the platform and get their hands on a type of bread that’s considered the best in the country. The Samarkand non. A version of what we, here in India, know as naan, the Samarkand non is also baked in an oven similar to a tandoor. The major difference, however, lies in its appearance. This style of flatbread has a darker crust, and it is heavier, larger and more filling with a texture that is dense. The finished loaf is coated with a light brushing of oil which is why this version of non is the preferred one to take on journeys or as gifts for far off friends and family.
I later help my cabin mate stuff two gleaming, circular disks of the flatbread he’s just purchased from the platform kiosk into his carry-on, as the zipper of the bag threatens to give way. But we soldier on till we are certain that his family in Bukhara will get their quotidian dinner share of the bread that’s now comfortably ensconced between his clothes.

Bread Talk
Over the next few days as I traverse the country, I am made aware, on an almost daily basis, of how important the non is to the Uzbeks. In Bukhara, over a tub full of bubbling xamir—a sourdough prepared the night before—Alisher, the chief bread maker or nonvoy at a friendly neighbourhood nonvoy khona (bakery) near my hotel is giving me a crash course in all things non. All this, peppered with several bread-based proverbs thrown in for good measure. “Respect for non is respect for country” is what my translation app spits out at me, as Alisher turns his attention to a batch of soon-to-be-baked Bukhara-style, nigella seed-topped non that he embosses with his signature bread stamp called a chakich that even has his cellphone number etched onto it! “We never waste bread. Even if a crumb falls onto the floor, we pick it up and touch it to our forehead. Also, we never use a knife to cut bread. Tearing it with one’s hands is the norm,” says Alisher. In fact, in the country’s autonomous republic of Karakalpakstan, once the non is passed around, the most distinguished guest should be the first one to snap a piece off the disk.
I encounter more ‘bread-folklore’ that night at my hotel as I lay my head down onto the fluffy pillow. My reverie is interrupted by a slight bump underneath the pillow near the nape of my neck. It turns out to be a piece of dry bread that I later learn the housekeeping staff place under every pillow in the hotel as a sort of amulet to ward off nightmares.

Same, yet Different…
In Tashkent’s gargantuan Chorsu Bazaar, I dodge past qazi or horsemeat sausage vendors, as I make my way towards the source of the yummy aroma wafting through the nonvoy khona section. Here, I pick up two plump, lamb-stuffed somsas that are dead ringers for our desi samosas. Only here, the breading is super flaky and made from pea flour called sorgo.
Later that day, en route to the airport, I stop by the city’s open-air Chigatay Darvoza Non Bazaar for some Tashkent lochira non. This unique mould-formed non is baked from short crust pastry made from milk, butter, and sugar. It has a perimeter that is marked with spoke-like patterns that come from a tool called a bosma, which in olden days used to be made out of repurposed spokes from a bicycle wheel.
I pick up half a dozen to take back home. Only this time, it’s me singlehandedly trying to stuff the lochira non into my rather unyielding suitcase!


Between Breads—Uzbekistan’s Bread Folklore
* At an engagement, a loaf of bread is divided equally between both sides, signaling a fair partnership.
* Special kulcha non dough is rolled between the feet of a child when they take their first steps.
* When going off to war, a soldier is given a bite of bread and his family keeps the remaining loaf to signify that the family and the bread is waiting for his safe return.
* “Be as respected as bread” is a commonly heard blessing in Uzbekistan.

(A shorter, differently edited version of this article appeared in the 19th January 2019 issue of the Mint Lounge newspaper, India on page 14 https://www.livemint.com/Leisure/OFn8bW8p6xlElOBxSLOpyJ/Uzbekistans-bread-winners.html)

A-N-A-T-O-M-I-Z-E: Uzbek Plov

By Raul Dias

I’m already convinced that I’ve made a total spectacle of myself flailing my arms wildly above my head, trying desperately to draw the attention of any one of the phalanx of supremely busy servers who seem to march past me. Each set of outstretched arms carrying platters of a fragrant dish I had insanely researched that was now in front of me. And when I finally do manage to pin down a particularly dour-faced young man, my assortment of mock equine sounds and riding mimes does zilch to convey to him my predicament…
A little back story first. I’m at the very popular Magistral Plov Center on the outskirts of the city of Bukhara in the Central Asian country of Uzbekistan. I’m here for my first taste of a version of a dish that’s known multifariously all over Asia as palov, polov, polo, polu, pilaf and of course our very own pulao. Here in Uzbekistan, the rice and meat preparation goes by the name of plov and is considered the national dish…nay, obsession!
Now, depending on whom you speak with, it is believed that all the above mentioned iterations originated from the Indian subcontinent. But not many in Uzbekistan are willing to buy into this theory. Indeed, try telling that to my table mates—a gregarious bunch of vodka-quaffing local Bukhari businessmen who seem to have co-opted me into their raucous fold. Never mind the fact that they speak not a word of English, nor I, Uzbek.
Plov itself is a very simple preparation where medium grain rice is first fried in the nutty-tasting rapeseed oil along with onions, garlic, chunks of fatty lamb, golden sultanas and a fistful of sugared yellow carrot juliennes. All this is then stewed along with a generous splash of cumin powder-enhanced lamb stock for hours in a dough-sealed, humungous cauldron called a kazan. A few hours later the head plov maker called an oshpaz breaks the seal to reveal the kazan’s fragrant contents that he then goes on to aerate by separating the meat and rice grains with a large spatula in a cascade of moist yumminess.
Traditionally turned out on a blue and white platter called a lagan from the country’s pottery capital of Fergana, the plov is then studded with boiled chickpeas, pearly white, tiny quail eggs and the reason for my earlier disappointment i.e. the de rigueur horsemeat sausage called kazi that was rather strangely missing from my heaped lagan of plov. Perhaps the servers were under the (erroneous!) assumption that I, as a foreigner, would not be able to appreciate its dense texture and gamey, but supremely divine flavour. Something that I finally got to savour after my ‘nth’ comical Black Beauty impression! 

(An edited, shorter version of this column first appeared in the 6th January 2019 issue of The Hindu newspaper's Sunday Magazine section on page 8)