What might sound like an Afghan law firm, is actually the name of an Afghan restaurant alongside the family name of our Afghan friends. The idea that within one week we dined in the restaurant AND with the family is one of the lovely coincidences that make life interesting.
Our friend, Linda Burum, restaurant reviewer for the L.A. Times and wife of cinematographer and friend, Steve Burum, chose us as guests to help her review the restaurant. We are her go-to people when she is reviewing Valley restaurants. We know nothing about the food we're eating, but we do like to eat. The other couple with us are food experts like Linda. One has multiple cookbooks to her name and has a regular food column in the Jerusalem Post. They lose us when they start saying things like - "To me that tastes less like Vietnamese but more like Sri Lankan cinnamon..."
This was a spare, humble restaurant in a spare, humble mini-mall, in a spare, humble neighborhood. We raided the cooler for drinks and then began the long and complex ordering process. We try not to give away what our secret is, but when we ask about EVERY dish on the menu, and then order practically EVERY dish on the menu, I would think the owner might be a bit suspicious. He starts by bringing us what was listed on the menu as bologni (which was an unfortunate spelling for sure. The preferred spelling is bulani.) after giving up on describing it and us not understanding him. It's a flat bread stuffed with spinach (or was it leeks?) and was a good omen of good things to come. Soon the table is filled with platters and we start the passing process, which pretty much never stops. Our collective favorite is the qabili palau which I am still dreaming about. We also love the dumplings - meat dumplings are called manti and chive and sour cream-filled dumplings are called aushak.
I comment on the large photo of a handsome man wearing a Qaraqal hat like Hamid Karzai wears. In fact I think it's Hamid Karzai, so Rob and I tell the stories told to us by Hamid's cousin, Hameed (which I will not repeat in public), but it turns out to be a picture of the owner's father, who recently passed away. It was the owner's tribute to the dad that he loved, which made the meal even more lovely than ever.
As we're about to get into our car, we notice that the owner is standing outside near the entrance of his restaurant. We again thank him and mention that we have some good friends from Afghanistan. He asks their names. We say, "the Dildar family" and he says, "I know them. I cater for them." Turns out, the owner was a star soccer player back in Afghanistan and knew Daoud back there. He indeed catered Najla and Hameed's engagement party. The world got a little smaller.
The next week, we go to Baz and Sadika's condo in Irvine. Najla is in town with children Sameed and Azeem. We didn't realize that the whole gang was going to show up. Zakia, Daoud, Nadia, Sulieman, Wana, and Masoud. Things that stood out to me were:
1. All of them speak several languages. Najla and Daoud speak Farsi, Pashto, Turkmen, Russian, Uzbek, English and one other that I can't remember. (Is it Urdu?) In addition, Daoud speaks the different dialects to the different Afghan languages. Rob spent the evening practicing, "Nice to meet you" in Farsi.
2. Sadika, the matriarch of the family, doesn't speak much English, but she and I talk to each other anyway. We laugh and hold hands and somehow we manage to communicate. (Though I have to admit it's nice when someone translates.)
3. All three of Daoud's children seem so American to me now. So does Najla. How did that happen?
4. Nadia says she prays for "Mr. Tom Kemp" every day. Her English is amazing. "Mr. Tom Kemp" would indeed be proud of her.
5. When there's a break in the dinner conversation, the Afghanis have an old saying that an angel just visited. I like that.
6. Zakia told us the story that Nadia once told - that Sadika (Najla's mother) and Zakia went to the mosque to give out coins to those begging there. Zakia was wearing a full burka which covered her face, when she saw her mother walk up to her and hand her some coins. Her own mother didn't recognize her, thinking she was a beggar.
7. Zakia also told us that women couldn't ride in regular bus seats. They had to sit in the back on the floor. She and her mother got into the same bus unbenownst to each other. Zakia recognized her mother and, not wanting to get in trouble by speaking, just reached out and took her mother's hand and held it. Later that day, her mom told someone about the stranger who had taken her hand. Again, she hadn't known it was her own daughter.
8. The size of an Afghan family kitchen bears no relation to the amount of food that is produced there. We ate like kings.
I am writing this on the day after Afghanistan's second national election. The Taliban have issued their "night letters," threatened to cut off the blue finger of anyone who voted, and have launched 122 rockets into cities and villages on election day. Over 20 people were killed. But one woman is quoted as saying, "Why should we be scared? We want to have a say in our future and the future of our children." That's courage. May God bless Afghanistan and its people.
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