Bon Appetit

If they hadn’t said it was chicken, I wouldn’t have known. It looked more like something that one would find crusted over on the side of the highway, after a couple days in the summer sun. Closer inspection determined it to be several chicken carcasses, diminutive versions of their hormone-fed American cousins. The pan of chicken sat atop a tank of propane while whisps of blue flames reached for the bottom of the pan. Greasy newspaper, in a Germanic language I didn’t even recognize, served as a lid, pressed down upon the chicken.

The flat bread was in sweaty stacks, crammed in a plastic grocery bag. A pressure cooker full of the longest grained rice I have ever seen sat in the corner. A pot of pinto beans was proffered. I have now realized that every poor country, be it the jungles of Belize or the desolate hills of Aghanistan, seems to consist on beans and rice. Throw in a little flat bread and maybe some protein for a special occasion and you have a meal acceptable throughout most of the developing world, the only variation is the spices.

Stew, from unknown whereabouts, was set on the tiny stand that served as a table. Observing the others, I grabbed at the contents with bread-wrapped fingers. Large chunks resisted my efforts to chew. Trying to be discrete, I pulled what appeared to be a piece of a spinal column out of my mouth. After several iterations of the same experience, I gave up on the stew.

All tea in Afghanistan is known as “chai” and chai is not a beverage, but a relational experience. In preparation for chai, I watched an Afghan man, crouched on the ground, wash the cups. He poured the boiling water into one cup and swished it around, before dumping it into the next cup. Brief swirl and down the line of cups.

Chai must be served with approximately half a bag of sugar. No less. Course-grained Afghan sugar is poured a centimeter or two deep across the bottom of the cup. Chai is then poured atop. The sugar never fully dissolves and swirls around in the bottom of the cup, until the final sip is undrinkable.