Uzbek pilaf

I remember how I came to my grandmother in Tashkent for the summer.

Once she distracted me from playing with the neighbors, calling me, mysteriously said: “We will cook Uzbek pilaf for dinner. But for this I go to the market for meat, cereals, vegetables, seasonings and herbs. "I will go with you!" - I insisted, burning with curiosity to see a real Uzbek market. “Good,” my grandmother took my hand, a wicker string bag hung from her other hand, and a wallet was clamped under her arm.

We passed a couple of blocks, and the Uzbek food market spread before our eyes. Oh, the markets in Tashkent are really good! You experience extraordinary pleasure looking at these seas of juicy greenery, large ripe fruits, freshly baked pita breads covered with a crispy crust and deliciously smelling kebabs cooked on the grill, different colors of spices in bags, cereals, small berries, melons, watermelons, peanuts ... And what is the aroma of all this!

I was not left without attention, the merchants shouted to me in turn: “Girl! Ay, yes beauty! Eat a peach, a watermelon, take an apple, this melon is looking at you…”. And I was afraid of the Uzbeks and turned away.

Finally, we approached the counters with greens, which I love to eat, and my grandmother told me: "I'll go buy meat, and you, Yulia, choose everything you want for the table."

Grandma's task is not an easy one - my eyes just run wide! And fruits and vegetables are very cheap in Uzbekistan, so take as much as you want.

When my grandmother returned, having bought meat, I showed her my finger (a gesture forbidden by my parents): “I want that large white onion with green streaks, I also want purple salad, and also long green garlic and carrots in Korean, and also freshly baked pita bread, peppers, burgundy fleshy tomatoes and a large melon, well, at least half, as it is clear that it cannot be carried away. “I’ll feed you while you’re visiting me in Tashkent! And what you saw there in Mongolia. And Yulia's cheeks will be ruddy, like liquid apples, ”grandmother smiled and went to buy.

We returned home with full bags of food: my grandmother with a string bag, and I with a large bag, from which green onion feathers stuck out mixed with shaggy dill tassels. On the way, my grandmother warned me that relatives should come to dinner, so we had to hurry.

So we are at home. On the kitchen table there is a large black cauldron, smoky from previous frying, in which diced lamb is already boiling and sizzling. Grandma adds chopped, crumbly, coarse-grained rice to it, and handfuls of chopped carrots and onions lie on a cutting board. “I add carrots last, so that they color the rice properly,” she tells me her recipe, meanwhile removing the lid from the cauldron. Hot steam pours from the pan, and she pours carrots into it, - After that, I sprinkle the porridge with spices, garlic and mix the contents thoroughly. Everything is ready. But after that, it is better to cover the cauldron with a lid, reduce the fire and leave the pilaf to sweat. Like this. Now I'll help you with the salad."

A call rings out. These guests have arrived. After family hugs, kisses and a joyful “Salam alaikum”, everyone runs to help set the table. Grandmother carries a large, heavy swimmer, so that she can then scatter golden, intoxicatingly smelling, crumbly rice with lightly baked meat into white bowls with blue patterns. I carry meaty tomatoes in a transparent glass salad bowl, cut into slices, salted, peppered and garnished with large onion rings.

Late in the evening we drink green tea with dried fruit, laugh at family anecdotes and praise our successful plov.