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By Katie
While Humaira's roots are firmly planted in Afghanistan, mine are in Ireland. The Irish landscape is lush and verdant, the country is surrounded by water, the people are fair skinned and friendly, and the pub is the centerpiece of Irish social life.
Afghanistan is an arid, landlocked country where community centers around the homefront and the very notion of a public watering hole is virtually non-existent. The two countries mutual devotion to brewing and serving endless cups of tea was the one commonality I could think of.
While in Ireland, little grabbed my interest on the culinary front, this hearty quick bread became a minor obsession. Toasted with plenty of Irish butter and blackberry jam, it was the perfect accompaniment to all that hot tea.
While it's hardly Afghan food, it pairs just right with some of Afghanistan's hearty, flavorful soups and stews.
Brown Soda Bread
Makes 1 loaf
1 3/4 cups self-rising flour
1 3/4 cup whole wheat flour
6 tbsp. ground flax meal (or wheat bran)
2 tbsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. cold butter, cut into small pieces
2 cups buttermilk
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Sift the first 6 ingredients into a big bowl. Add the butter to the bowl, pinching it between your fingers to incorporate it into the flour mixture until it is evenly distributed and is like a coarse meal. Pour in the buttermilk and stir with a wooden spoon until just barely combined. Do not overmix it. Put the dough in buttered loaf pan and bake until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean (about 40 minutes).
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If I was on the fence about the slow cooker, this particular dish here has tipped the scales.When the slow cooker had finished doing its magic, I found myself hovered over the pot, fork in hand, double dipping, tongue burning, and hoping nobody would stumble into the kitchen.It was crock pot crack.
The dish is called mashawa.Humaira deemed it Afghan chili when she posted the original recipea few months ago.It has the consistency of chili and boasts three different legumes.It’s crowned with a scoop of yogurt just as you might finish a Southwestern chili with sour cream.The flavor however, is distinctly Afghan, not remotely Tex Mex:coriander and dill in lieu of chili powder and cumin.And while it’s loaded with flavor, it lacks the heat of a traditional chili.If you like spicy, boost the amount of red chili flakes in the recipe.
I’m keeping this posting short.I need time to figure out which crock pot I’m going to buy.
Slow Cooker Afghan Chili
Mashawa
1 medium onion, finely chopped 5 cloves garlic, finely chopped 3 tbsp. olive oil 1 1/2 lbs. beef stew meat, cut into bite-size pieces (too big and it won’t be tender)
1 tsp. Kosher salt, plus more for seasoning the meat
¾ tsp. black pepper, plus more for seasoning the meat 6 cups low-sodium chicken broth 2 tbsp. tomato paste 1 tbsp. ground coriander 1/2 tsp. red chili flakes 1 1/2 cups dried mung beans 1 15-oz can of kidney bean 1 15-oz can of chickpeas 2 tbsp. dried dill 1 cup plain yogurt 1/2 tsp. dried ground garlic
Heat the oil in large skillet over medium-high heat, add the onions and sauté for 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook for another minute. Season the meat with a healthy pinch of Kosher salt and black pepper and add to the onions/garlic.Cook for 10-12 minutes until nicely browned.
While the meat is browning, combine the chicken broth, tomato paste, coriander, chili flakes, mung beans, ½ tsp. of the salt and the black pepper to the crock pot.Stir well.Add the browned meat/onions to the pan and stir again.Turn the crock pot to low and cook for 6 hours.After 6 hours, add the kidney beans, chickpeas and dill.Continue to cook on low for an additional 30 minutes.If the meat is not tender enough, let it go another 30 minutes.
When you are ready to eat, stir together the yogurt, dried garlic and remaining half teaspoon of salt.
In a small bowl mix together the yogurt, garlic and remaining ½ tsp of salt.
Serve in bowls with a dollop of yogurt and a piece of nan or flat bread.
I often find that people are surprised when I tell them I am Afghan. I don’t fit their stereotype of Afghan women. Afghan women are often portrayed as weak, tormented, uneducated, burka clad and in need of being rescued. In this post I am profiling an Afghan women who is far from this western profile.
I met Fariba Nawa at an event at the San Francisco Library; she immediately caught my attention among the female panelists. She was articulate, super smart and clearly knowledgeable about Afghanistan. Also, she is a natural blond, not your typical Afghan woman. We became fast friends through our common interest in Afghanistan and our roles as mother of two daughters. Well, when we met she had only one daughter.
Fariba lives in the Bay Area and donates her time to various causes supporting Afghanistan. She is an Afghan-American award-winning journalist and author of must read Opium Nation: Child Brides, Drug Lords and One Woman’s Journey through Afghanistan.
Recently Fariba spoke at TedX Monterey. She eloquently tell the story of her family's resettlement in the United States and the challenges of living in two words as an exile. I encourage you to get a cup of tea and watch this talk:
Fariba and her guide in Siwa, Egypt while reporting in the Middle East.
Guest blogger: Fariba Nawa
My former housekeeper, “Mojabeen, “ is one of the Afghans who inspire me to be hopeful about Afghanistan’s future. She’s 25 and has four sons now. She recently called me when I was in Washington DC, after seeing my appearance on Voice of America television. She wanted to congratulate me on the publication of my book Opium Nation: Child Brides, Drug Lords and One Woman’s Journey through Afghanistan. I beamed because when I first met her five years ago, she didn’t even know how to hold a cell phone. Here’s a story I wrote about her in 2007 when I still lived in Kabul.
KABUL – The only sound that I look forward to hearing in the morning is the jingle of Mojabeen’s fake gold bangles. When I open my eyes from sleep, that’s how I know that she’s downstairs cleaning our dusty house and that as soon as she hears me call, she’ll come upstairs smiling, with my breakfast and her lively conversation.
She never takes off her dozen bangles or her scarf, which she wraps around her ears to make sure her hair is safely covered. About five feet tall in pink plastic sandals, she’s thin and pale beneath the long, loose dresses she wears, but she’s stronger than she looks.
Mojabeen is my 21-year-old housekeeper and cook and the person I spend the most time with in Kabul. I work from my home while my husband goes to the office. In the past four months, Mojabeen and I have formed a bond and trust that has broken the barriers of class and culture. We’ve learned about each other’s worlds and become friends. She’s an illiterate village girl who’s rapidly urbanizing, and I’m a Western-educated Afghan-American appreciating her resilience and strength. But it would be unfair of me to compare my comfortable life to her troubled one.
When she was 6 months old, in a remote village in the north of Afghanistan, Mojabeen was betrothed to a deaf and mute man. That man’s sister was promised to Mojabeen’s brother, Ahmed. It was an exchange common in Afghanistan – it avoids the cost of dowries. Mojabeen’s brother married the girl, but Mojabeen’s fiancé went away to work in Iran as a laborer. She dreaded her marriage to the man, who she’d never even talked to.
“I only saw him once through my burqa on the street when I was walking to my cousin’s house, and my heart fell. He was unattractive, and I wondered if my fate was forever sealed,” she told me as she hung our laundry.
Mojabeen’s father had passed away and her oldest brother, Tarek, was in charge of family affairs. There had been no ceremony or religious event to bind Mojabeen’s union with the deaf-mute laborer, so in the fiancé’s absence her brother gave his 17-year-old sister’s hand to another man – Mahmood, who had no idea that she was already engaged.
Mojabeen and Mahmood, a warm and open-minded farmer, made a life in their village and had a son. She was happy to be with her husband, but she dreaded the laborer’s return. After 15 months, the laborer came back and took Mahmood to court to get Mojabeen as his wife. Because he was only engaged to Mojabeen, the man had no case under Afghan law. But Mojabeen and Mahmood say the man’s family bribed the judge to order their marriage and their son illegitimate. Mahmood was thrown in jail, and Mojabeen’s family hid her.
Mahmood spent 4 months in the local district prison with three murderers. One day, the four prisoners found a small iron rod and dug a hole through the prison wall and escaped. Mahmood picked up his wife and son, who was four months old, and headed to the mountains to hide. For two years, the three of them lived among strangers in villages nestled against hills where people live on wheat and barley farming. “We’re Tajiks, but it was Hazaras and Uzbeks who took us in and provided us shelter,” Mojabeen said.
Mahmood was often unemployed, but he would find odd jobs to survive. Mojabeen had another son and nearly died in childbirth because there was little medical help in that remote area. It filled Mojabeen with fear that she’d die, leaving her children orphans. Her oldest brother Tarek and Mahmood’s sister had moved to Kabul and they encouraged the couple to join them in the bustling capital where the police from their district did not have the power to capture them.
They settled in with Tarek, his wife, and their two small sons in the servant quarters of my friend Sarah’s house. Not long after Mojabeen arrived in Kabul, I called Sarah asking if she knew a trustworthy housekeeper. Mojabeen considers our meeting a turn of fortune in her life.
She works eight-hour days, five days a week, and goes home for lunch to breast-feed her younger son. It’s the first time she’s earned money – $150 a month. Mahmood stays home to take care of the children – unusual for an illiterate Afghan family in which patriarchy calls for men to work outside and women to play the caregivers. But Mojabeen and Mahmood are eager to modernize.
Mojabeen wears the burqa on her short walk to my house. But one simmering day when I took her shopping, she sheepishly asked if it was all right if she wore just her scarf. I smiled and said it was up to her. I wear a long shirt, jeans, and a sheer scarf in public. She still hasn’t given up the tent like blue garment completely. She dons it when she walks home, fearing her brother’s disapproval.
Mojabeen is also learning about food and appliances. For one dinner, I gave her a bag with a head of lettuce and spinach and told her to cook the spinach. She cooked both because she’d never seen lettuce before. Also she didn’t know the difference between the refrigerator and the freezer, so she twice put lettuce in the freezer, not understanding why it froze. When I explained the difference, we both had a good laugh.
I offered to teach her how to read and write in Dari, and she was thrilled. I got her a literacy-for-adults book, a notebook, and pencils. She put them in a plastic bag, and every day after her chores, she brings the bag, enthusiastic about her next lesson. So far, she has learned the alphabet, her numbers, and how to use a cellphone.
But things between us aren’t always rosy. She often brings her 3-year-old with her to work, and one morning I noticed that his eyes were red and he was unusually quiet. She told me that Mahmood had beaten him with a stick. I pulled up his shirt and saw red marks across his tiny back. I’d also seen Mojabeen slap his face for breaking something. I told her I have no right to tell her how to rear her children, but I do have the right to fire her. Both seem to have stopped abusing their boys.
Mojabeen has taught me about resilience and patience. I moved back to my homeland from the US after the fall of the Taliban at a time of great hope for peace only to witness growing instability, violence, and dissipating hope. Yet, it’s Afghans like Mojabeen who remind me of why I returned.
Our nikah (wedding) in Kabul at our Taimani home in 2007
Fariba and her husband with sad faces infront of the destroyed statue in Bamiyan
Fariba and her family, Naeem, Fariba, Andisha (9 months) and Bonoo (4 years) in Palo Alto - 2012
Note: This article was originally published on September 4, 2007 in The Christian Science Monitor. The original article, “An Afghan village girl blossoms in the city” has been edited for this post. The housekeeper profiled in this story is wanted by authorities in her village for running away from a betrothal made when she was 6 months old. For security reasons, the names in the article have been changed.
Periodically we invite friends and colleagues to be Guest Bloggers on Afghan Cooking Unveiled.Today Leslie Gordon, a mother of two, and author of Cheer, a novel, writes about her first taste of Afghan food during a visit to Helmand Palace in San Francisco. Helmand also has locations in Baltimore and Cambridge.
By Leslie Gordon, Guest Blogger
Nothing tickles me more than to hear one of my kids ask, “Mom, can we get Ethiopian food tonight?” Having been raised on noodles with butter and parmesan, I love that I have worldly City kids, who bring sushi in their lunch boxes and argue not about pizza toppings but whether to go to Indian or Chinese.
Sparked solely by Katie and Humaira’s blog, I decided to add Afghan food to our repertoire. I wasn’t at all familiar with the cuisine, but I’d been touched by Humaira’s family stories and intrigued at Katie’s apparent obsession with Afghan cooking. They recommended Helmand Palace in San Francisco.
Walking in there, I was worried that Helmand’s white table cloths clashed with our sweatshirts and Crocs. But the staff was welcoming and unconcerned about our attire.
While we waited for our first course, the kids devoured the bread. My daughter loved the yogurt cucumber sauce; my son couldn’t get enough of the cilantro-walnut sauce. We splurged on two appetizers. Our favorite was gulpea, a truly sensational cauliflower dish sautéed with fresh tomato and hot pepper, with fried onion and turmeric.It was a highlight of the meal. We scraped up every last bit of sauce with pieces of bread long after the cauliflower was finished.
The standout main course was murgh chalaw, which was akin to an Indian or Thai chicken yellow curry. It was rich and flavorful without being heavy or too spicy for kids. Palau rice, Afghanistan’s classic baked rice with chicken and spices was, of course, a huge hit all around. My daughter ate hers topped with the yogurt cucumber dipping sauce.
A further splurge, we ordered four desserts. Mine was Afghanistan’s version of baklava.It was delicious. My son had a wonderful fruit-topped cream dessert. My husband and daughter both ordered the rice pudding.The restaurant kindly accommodated my daughter’s food allergy and left the pistachios off of her dessert.There was something lovely and unusual about rice pudding being served on a flat dish rather than in a bowl.
Even with our “more-dishes-than-necessary” ordering, the meal was reasonably priced. As soon as we got home, I shot off one e-mail to my parents and sister, suggesting they not delay in trying Helmand, and another to Katie and Humaira, thanking them for the fabulous referral. No longer a passive reader of Afghan Cooking Unveiled, I am now perusing the blog for recipes to try at home. I predict I’ll soon hear the welcome chime of, “Mom, can we have Afghan food tonight?”
Eva is on the board of Afghan Friends Network the non-profit I started. She has become a dear friend over the short period we have known each other. Eva exudes positive energy, relentless charm and unconditional love for everyone she meets. I am not surprised that every Afghan she met fell in love with her. This is true public diplomacy at work, now we just need 100 Evas to "win the hearts & minds of Afghan".
Eva, and friends in Ghazni, Afghanistan
By guest blogger: Eva Vander Giessen
Last September, when San Francisco was finally warming up and the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was cooling down, I was given the opportunity to go to Afghanistan. “A dream come true” was my response. Despite the fact that no one would name Afghanistan a holiday paradise, this complex country has drawn me for many years. Afghanistan shines the light on humanity in its widest varieties. Two boys hauling crushing loads of rocks uphill on Eid in Kabul. A woman with a cracked tooth smiling and children walking two hours to attend literacy classes in Ghazni, a province of Afghanistan. Some people look at Afghanistan and see hopelessness. I meet Afghans and hope is unavoidable.
Eva, the natural diplomat
One reason for this is the kindness of the Afghans. Three minutes in a taxi and I’m suddenly being invited to have chai (tea) with my driver’s sister, mother, aunt and uncle. I’ve experienced hospitality when traveling, however, Afghans wear their hospitality with a pride that reflects their rich history and surpasses harsh realities of their every day lives.
In the face of this regal generosity, humorous situations can arise. I, for instance, am a card-carrying vegetarian. Being somewhat familiar with Afghan cuisine, I studied three different ways to politely decline meat when offered in Dari (one of the main languages of Afghansitan). They included vague medical reasons, equally vague religious reasons, and even “I to meat am allergic” mutterings. They lasted me six days and countless meals, until the mayor of Ghazni City personally placed a succulent skewer of lamb on my plate as the guest of honor. When a Mayor places a skewer of lamb on your plate, and you are painfully aware of the effort it has taken on the part of five diplomats and twelve military personnel to get you – and it – there… well, no convoluted mutterings of allergies seemed sufficient. I appreciated the lamb for all our sakes.
On the other end of the spectrum was a feast served by a colleague and her family that lasted four hours. This was just the eating. The cooking took ten hours prior and the cleaning another three. How this 22-year old does this while studying medicine, working with an NGO and running a business at the Women’s Garden had me amazed. Plate after plate of tender kadoo drizzled with yogurt, steaming qabili palau dark with seasoned meats and savory aushak plump with juices came out of the tiny kitchen. She had made a special effort to include a variety of vegetarian dishes, of which there are plenty. All were placed on a rolled out mat on the floor, accompanied by mounds of nan fresh from the nanwayee (bakery).
It was a magician’s trick: rather than pulling a rabbit from a hat, she pulled an 8” x 3” feast out of a 2” x 3” kitchen. Then came the melons, grapes – legendary from Ghazni province – and pears, all sweeter than anything you would find in a California grocery. Although candies feature prominently in any social gathering, the real desserts are Afghan fruits. I had no idea the wealth of pomegranates, apples, grapes and alike that I would find in the backyards of Kabul and Ghazni.
The fruit, like their gardeners, have seeds of sweeter futures inside. I cannot wait until my next cross-legged meal with Afghan friends. Perhaps, after a few more cooking sessions with Humaira jan, I can host one of my own with Afghan hospitality.
Afghan friend, Stetson Sanders and Humaira in an arecheological site in Ghazni, Afghanistan
By, Humaira
During my nine years of non-profit work in Afghanistan I have had the great fortune of meeting a myriad of amazing people one of whom happens to be our guest blogger, Stetson Sanders. I met Stetson in March of 2011 in the province of Ghazni and I was blown away by his dedication, hard work and respect for the Afghan people. When he returned home to Sacramento I wanted to have a dinner party for him. Instead, Stetson asked if we for a cooking session instead. As my Afghan reader know, we Afghans never allow our guests to even lift a plate let alone allow them in preparing a meal. However, I put my old fashioned hospitality behind and decided to do a cooking session just as my guest had requested.
By, guest blogger: Stetson Sanders
I recently had the pleasure of spending 15 months living and working in provincial Afghanistan. Of all the adventures and excitement, the opportunity to enjoy and learn about Afghan cuisine was one of the highlights. There wasn't always a lot of variety to the food, but the fresh vegetables (cucumbers, tomatoes and assorted greens), and mouth-watering fruit (humongous and delicious watermelons) were always a treat. I found the main courses (palau and sabzi) to be filling but always fantastic and served with pride. My favorite dishes were shola a kind of a risotto dish made with meat. I had never heard of shola before Afghanistan. Mantoo is a meat dumpling mostly served at celebrations or events where were honored guests. I have tried a similar dish in Central Asia; I found Tajiks and even Russians reluctantly attribute this dish to Uzbeks.
After returning home from my assignment, I had the great fortune to join Humaira at her lovely home for a cooking session! I'm not much of a cook and probably mostly a liability in the kitchen, so she designed a pretty straightforward menu (see below) for a novice cook like me. I was joined by a friend who is much more adept in the kitchen so she did all the heavy lifting.
All of the cooking was greatly aided by Humaira's prep work and equipment (food processor, etc.), which minimized the preparation that we had to do. We started by preparing the sabzi, (braised spinach) which was pretty straightforward and turned out to be delicious! Next, we used wonton dough to make aushak. Aushak is basically a dumpling filled with sautéed green onion then boiled for a few minutes. They are delicate so we had to be very fast on our feet when it came to removing the aushak from the water. Aushak is served on a flat platter lightly coated with a garlic yogurt mixture, finished off with a generous amount of kofta a meat sauce.
The final dish was kadoo made with winter squah. I only had kadoo once or twice in Afghanistan but over there they use pumpkin which is called kadoo in Dari. To end the evening, we enjoyed falooda, a homemade rosewater-infused ice cream on a bed of crushed ice and glass noodles, topped with chopped pistachios. It might be attributable to the lack of cold storage capacity and limited electricity in rural Afghanistan, but I seldom ate desert. My local counterparts usually finished meals with an apple, banana, or orange, so this was a nice introduction to a new treat that was light, but also sweet and satisfying.
The whole evening was fun, interesting, and empowering, as I now feel that I could prepare that meal for friends or family. Thanks, Humaira-jaan, for letting us in to you home...and to both Eva and Humaira for being patient while I learned the basics in an American kitchen!
As Katie gets her wide-brimmed hat ready for her first trip to the Kentucky Derby this weekend, it seems fitting to invite my friend Mark Walson, who lives in Louisville, to join us as a guest blogger and share his story of an Afghan dinner party he recently threw with some friends.
Guest Blogger: Mark Walston
I am a long time member of a gourmet club with four other couples. We take turns hosting the party. The host selects the theme and prepares the main course. The other members in the group bring appetizers, a salad, and a dessert that goes along with the theme. We don't dictate to people what to make; each guest chooses what they will contribute to the meal.
It was my turn to host and I chose Afghan cuisine. I was inspired by my friend Humaira Ghilzai. We worked together last summer on a stage production of the Kite Runner here in Louisville. Humaira was our cultural consultant.
Everything went great. For appetizers, my friend Sean, who went to culinary school, brought a dip with eggplant and red pepper from this blog. It was delicious and a nice start.
For the main course, I made Kadoo, Nan, and Qabili Palau. All were a success. I prepared the Kadoo ahead of time at Humaira's suggestion and it reheated perfectly. Everyone loved it; I think it was the biggest hit of the evening. I also made the nan the night before, which didn't look as nice as on the blog, but it tasted great.
I was very pleased with the Qabili Palau. I was worried that the sauce wasn't thickening enough while I cooked the chicken, but it seemed perfect in the end. It was a nice brown color. I used boneless breasts, and took Humaira's advice and included legs and thighs, too. The rice was excellent and it looked great when I got it all put together.
Dessert was a pudding called Firnee with cookies on the side called Khatai. It was a delicious end to the meal
A couple of people in the group told me that doing this Afghan theme was an unusual and challenging adventure for them! We've been doing this for almost 10 years and we all enjoy cooking, but no one was at all familiar with Afghan cuisine.
I'd like to cook this meal again for a smaller group, perhaps family or my closest friends. I really enjoyed it! This summer, I'm going to give Afghan kebabs on the grill a try.
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