distinguished my parents from those of my classmates was that they were part of the ancient Jewish community of Central Asia. In modern times, our family members were scattered all over the world, in Italy, Israel, Thailand, Hong Kong, Japan, and the U.S., but they could all trace their ancestry to the Babylonian Exile and Persian conquest, in the sixth century BCE. At that time, the great Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed and the Jews were forced into exile in Babylonia (now Iraq), which, in turn, was conquered by Persia (now Iran). For several centuries, my family traveled between Persia, Afghanistan and Bukhara (the capital of a province in Uzbekistan) as merchants; they spoke their own Jewish dialect of Farsi, Judeo-Persian, and cooked a kosher interpretation of the local food. In the early part of the nineteenth century, my family finally settled down in Afghanistan, smack in the middle of the Silk Road.
My paternal great grandfather near the Pyramids in 1914.
A family wedding party in Kabul in 1940.
My father at a 1960s Passover Seder meal wearing a traditional silk brocade called a jomah. He is holding a green onion as an illustration for one of the songs.
My grandfather buying sapphires in Burma in the 1960s.
My sister, being held by my father, at her first birthday party in Bombay.
THE SILK ROAD’S CULINARY HERITAGE
For those in the West familiar with it, most equate the Silk Road with China and its immediate neighbors, when in fact it was an extensive, interconnected network of trade routes across the Asian continent connecting East, South, and West Asia with the Mediterranean world, culminating in Italy. These Silk Routes (collectively known as the Silk Road) were important paths for cultural and commercial exchange between traders, merchants, pilgrims, missionaries, soldiers, and nomads from China, India, Tibet, the Persian Empire, and Mediterranean countries for almost 3,000 years.
The lucrative Chinese silk trade, which began during the Han Dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE) gave the “road” its name. Silk, however, was hardly the only commodity that moved along the route. All sorts of goods were traded—chief among them, spices, which were prized for their culinary, medicinal, and cosmetic value.
It’s the culinary heritage of the Silk Road that most fascinates me. If you could visualize the foods of the Silk Road, you’d see a collection of interconnecting sweeps and swirls revealing similarities and variations among cuisines and cultures. Reflecting the influence of the silk and spice trades, there are tastes of India and China in all the cuisines found along the Silk Road; above all, though, the Silk Road is a rich mosaic—each piece related but distinctly different. The same basic dish may be prepared in several different regions, but will vary depending on what grows in each place, how the local people expressed their nationalism, religion, and culture in their cooking, and how they were influenced by travelers. Many Central Asians, my family included, were a motley crew weaving through the trade routes and picking up their customs and dishes along their travels.
Most of the dishes of the region made use of local vegetables and the fundamental staple of the Silk Road: rice. The grain was first cultivated in China and India, and it was at least 5,000 years before it reached Persia in the fourth century BCE. Rice did not play an important role until the eighth century CE, but after that it became the centerpiece of the festive dishes called polows, known under different spellings in neighboring countries. The Bukharian green rice dish known as baksh is a variation on the Persian shevid polo, while the Bukharian oshi mosh (which looks just like it sounds) is a variation of the Indian kitchari, which is a staple comfort food in that country.
MY FAMILY’S CULINARY HERITAGE IN CENTRAL ASIA
My paternal great grandfather, known as Amin Kabuli, owned a vinyard in the region that is known today as Samarkand, Uzbekistan. The grapes were transformed into preserves and also wine, which was used locally for the Sabbath or sold for export. In fact, the Rothschild family heard about his renowned wine, and came to Samarkand requesting the seeds of his gigantic jeweled grapes so they could plant them in a vineyard in Israel. (When my paternal grandmother moved to the United States in the 1950s, she continued her family’s ancient tradition of growing grapes and making her own wine. My parents still have wine that she made over 40 years ago.)
In my grandfather’s day, Bukhara was a city in a southern province of Russia. As toddlers, my parents moved with their respective families to Kabul. There, my mother and her six siblings lived in a Jewish quarter, in an inner courtyard with closed gates, along with other families. The kitchen was a communal kitchen, of sorts. In the courtyard was a makeshift clay oven known as a tandoor that everyone used. The women in the courtyard would occasionally meet, serving tea along with a little gossip, a few jokes, and lots of laughter. To add to the congestion, many families kept a lamb and raised chickens in the courtyard to be ritually slaughtered for festive occasions. Large families and communal living demanded a practical solution to the challenge of meal preparation. Silk Road cooks found inspiration in one-pot meals consisting of all the essential ingredients for a balanced diet—not just in Afghanistan, but in Iran and Uzbekistan as well.
Most Westerners think of meat kabobs when they think of Persian and Afghan fare, but in truth, families rarely ate meat at home; it was saved for celebrations and holidays. Thus, Silk Road cooking had a strong vegetarian focus, partly due to the various religions flourishing there that encouraged a vegetarian diet, but chiefly because of economics. Vegetarian food was simply more affordable than meat.
As a result, preserving foods was essential in order to extend the season for all the fruits and vegetables that came to the table. Nearly every home had a big cellar for preserves, while root vegetables were kept covered with earth to preserve their freshness. Nothing went to waste—no composting was necessary, because all kitchen scraps were used as soup bases and fruit scraps were turned into preserves.
Despite the difficulties, a spirit of abundance shone throughout the cuisine. With rice, vegetables, fruit, nuts, and plenty of spices used in combination, there was always plenty to eat.
My mother (third from the left) scooping out a pilou in the 1960s.
Berry-Almond Coconut Scones (page 182) fresh from the oven.
MY FAMILY’S CULINARY HERITAGE IN INDIA
My mother lived in Kabul until she was a teenager, and then moved to Israel in 1949, a year after its founding. My father grew up in Kabul and worked as a tradesman before moving to Peshawar in what would become, when the British granted it independence, Pakistan. In 1947, the war between Pakistan and India prompted my father to move to Bombay, where he remained until he was thirty years old. During that time he visited Israel; he met my mother there, and they married in 1952. India was their home until 1956.
Bombay (now Mumbai) had been another stop for the traders and travelers of the Silk Road, and by the time my parents got there it was a melting pot of cultures, all drawn by the economic potential of this vibrant city. It was only natural
