An Apology
I doubt a single reader of this blog exists who has not heard me complain on multiple occasions how tired I am of Turkish food. Bıktım usandım! This constant complaining has clearly angered someone in charge of the universe, who has clearly sent me to Kyrgyzstan as punishment.
I am sorry. I take it all back. I am dying for olive oil, lentils and that annoyingly peppy mother-and-son duo at Evim Café.
It is cheap to eat in Kyrgyz restaurants, as the dishes are usually between one to two dollars. I must admit that my knowledge of Kyrgyz cuisine is not what it could be, as I’ve only familiarized myself with the dishes that do not feature meat as a main attraction. This includes manti (Central Asian ravioli, larger than the Turkish version of the same name), plov (glorified fried rice) and lagman (tasty noodles, fat, meat and minimal veggies, fried or in soup form).
At the risk of being a jerk, I wish to reveal something to the world. This stuff is not Kyrgyz. These dishes exist from Eastern Europe to China. It is Central Asian crap. I tried to talk to Jeren about this, my Russian teacher from Turkmenistan, albeit in a more diplomatic fashion. She sealed my opinion on this when she tried to argue that, au contrare, Uzbek and Kyrgyz food are very different because “Kyrgyz people use too much flour. And that is why Uzbek food is better.”
The Kyrgyz “national” dish, which I am not arguing exists elsewhere, although it very well might, is a terrifying concoction of mutton, lard and overcooked noodles called besh barmak. Let me put the Turcophones to rest – it is not made of fingers, but instead is so named because you are traditionally meant to eat it with your fingers. The fingers of your right hand, of course, thus the besh (5). I’ve been served this dish on three occasions by three different people, and in their defense I must say they meant me no harm but were instead showing me Kyrgyz hospitality. The only time I politely declined was when it was on my breakfast table at 8:30 in the morning. If one must draw a line, this very well may be the place to do so.
And yes, Mom! The bread here is good. Not as good as yours, and I mean that. They do make it in cool Frisbee shapes though, which could be a good idea in the future. So consider this my three month experiment: Can man live on bread alone?
I am sorry. I take it all back. I am dying for olive oil, lentils and that annoyingly peppy mother-and-son duo at Evim Café.
It is cheap to eat in Kyrgyz restaurants, as the dishes are usually between one to two dollars. I must admit that my knowledge of Kyrgyz cuisine is not what it could be, as I’ve only familiarized myself with the dishes that do not feature meat as a main attraction. This includes manti (Central Asian ravioli, larger than the Turkish version of the same name), plov (glorified fried rice) and lagman (tasty noodles, fat, meat and minimal veggies, fried or in soup form).
At the risk of being a jerk, I wish to reveal something to the world. This stuff is not Kyrgyz. These dishes exist from Eastern Europe to China. It is Central Asian crap. I tried to talk to Jeren about this, my Russian teacher from Turkmenistan, albeit in a more diplomatic fashion. She sealed my opinion on this when she tried to argue that, au contrare, Uzbek and Kyrgyz food are very different because “Kyrgyz people use too much flour. And that is why Uzbek food is better.”
The Kyrgyz “national” dish, which I am not arguing exists elsewhere, although it very well might, is a terrifying concoction of mutton, lard and overcooked noodles called besh barmak. Let me put the Turcophones to rest – it is not made of fingers, but instead is so named because you are traditionally meant to eat it with your fingers. The fingers of your right hand, of course, thus the besh (5). I’ve been served this dish on three occasions by three different people, and in their defense I must say they meant me no harm but were instead showing me Kyrgyz hospitality. The only time I politely declined was when it was on my breakfast table at 8:30 in the morning. If one must draw a line, this very well may be the place to do so.
And yes, Mom! The bread here is good. Not as good as yours, and I mean that. They do make it in cool Frisbee shapes though, which could be a good idea in the future. So consider this my three month experiment: Can man live on bread alone?
And to the international cuisine
Or, At least I won’t spend much money dining out
One day on the bus, I passed a kiosk not far from the school called “Tacos and Burritos.” Its menu, affixed to the kiosk itself in colorful poster form, was as follows: tacos, burritos, chi boreki (a fried bread with filling) and gamburger (how you say and write hamburger if you can’t comprehend the English “h” sound).
Related confession: last time Maggie picked me up at the Detroit airport, my first request was a pit stop at the closest Taco Bell. I love Mexican food, usually even if it isn’t anywhere near authentic. And so I crave and try it everywhere I travel, even though it is usually even worse than the Bell. I can’t help it. I love beans and cheese.
Related background story: Despite having a few high-priced Mexican restaurants, there is no decent Mexican food to be found in the ‘Bul. Frozen guacamole. Never any black beans. Multi-colored sombreros hanging from the wall. Many shattered dreams. I hope Maggie isn’t still angry at me for my suggestion to spend her birthday at that horrible restaurant in Suadiye with the cactus-shaped glasses and no hot sauce.
Back to Bishkek: I made it a point to hurry back to “Tacos and Burritos” for lunch. My mouth watering as I approached the stand, I whipped out the trusty Russian phrase for “do you have,” which was about the only thing I could say my first week.
“Do you have tacos?”
“No.”
“Do you have burritos??”
“No.”
“Do you have chi boreki???”
“No. We only have gamburger.”
Extreme disappointment followed.
This is called by some the “aspirational menu phenomenon.” I know in my heart that the trick is just to ask what they do have before getting your hopes up. But I can’t help but dream that someday the Pizza One by the school really will have chana masala.
To a brief overview of other options:
- Everyone at the school insists that the Syrian place has great food but I don’t know what they’re on about. The falafel tastes like cardboard and the hummus is clearly made from a boxed powder. They try to hide this by adding a few real chickpeas on top.
- The “underground” Korean restaurant near the school refused to cook me something without meat and instead gave me a bowl of boiling water and oil, with a plate of spices and onions to add. Note to self: talk to the hippie who studies here and figure out how he gets them to cook him tofu dishes.
- At Dolce Vita, an ex-pat pizza place, I paid 80 som (that is 30 minutes of private Russian lessons) for a Greek salad the size of my fist. The pizza was ok but I don’t really want to admit it. I also had good pumpkin manti at another overpriced ex-pat place, but can we really judge a city by its overpriced ex-pat places? I think not.
This is called by some the “aspirational menu phenomenon.” I know in my heart that the trick is just to ask what they do have before getting your hopes up. But I can’t help but dream that someday the Pizza One by the school really will have chana masala.
To a brief overview of other options:
- Everyone at the school insists that the Syrian place has great food but I don’t know what they’re on about. The falafel tastes like cardboard and the hummus is clearly made from a boxed powder. They try to hide this by adding a few real chickpeas on top.
- The “underground” Korean restaurant near the school refused to cook me something without meat and instead gave me a bowl of boiling water and oil, with a plate of spices and onions to add. Note to self: talk to the hippie who studies here and figure out how he gets them to cook him tofu dishes.
- At Dolce Vita, an ex-pat pizza place, I paid 80 som (that is 30 minutes of private Russian lessons) for a Greek salad the size of my fist. The pizza was ok but I don’t really want to admit it. I also had good pumpkin manti at another overpriced ex-pat place, but can we really judge a city by its overpriced ex-pat places? I think not.
The Silver Lining
I’ve also had some pretty tasty food at the homestay. Aika cooked this delicious Dungan dish, and I’ve previously raved about the carrot and onion dumpling/borek. Then again, some nights it is plov or besh barmak. This morning I made a mistake of talking about lagman and now she is dead set on making it for me, as she thinks I just won’t admit that I like it.
Of course, the best thing about the food here is that produce is plentiful and cheap at the bazaars. Although things like eggplant, cauliflower, tomatoes and bananas are quite expensive by local standards, they at least exist, and I’m looking forward to moving out of the homestay so I can do more of my own cooking. Spices in bulk, fresh dill, cilantro and parsley are also available. And everything is fresh and delicious: an American couple working at the international school here calls their Sunday bazaar trip “Whole Foods” day. They also put your spices in cute newspaper cones.
Of course, the best thing about the food here is that produce is plentiful and cheap at the bazaars. Although things like eggplant, cauliflower, tomatoes and bananas are quite expensive by local standards, they at least exist, and I’m looking forward to moving out of the homestay so I can do more of my own cooking. Spices in bulk, fresh dill, cilantro and parsley are also available. And everything is fresh and delicious: an American couple working at the international school here calls their Sunday bazaar trip “Whole Foods” day. They also put your spices in cute newspaper cones.
Anticipation:
- Strawberries and other seasonal fruit as summer approaches
- Peking Duck, the Chinese place that for some reason turns into a Disco-Bar around 9
- Dungan and more Chinese, all inconveniently located far from my school and flat
1 comment:
Liz, this is fascinating. You are certainly making us all proud of you.
I notice that you have a particularly well tuned ear for the odd phrase and do a great job of sharing that with us (the reader).
thanks for keeping this up. It's armchair travel at it's finest.
Aunt Bee
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