I spent the month of July in Kabul. When the assignment arose, I was excited—euphoric!—for all kinds of reasons, some altruistic (supporting my colleagues) and many somewhat selfish. Beyond the anticipation of international travel, on hold these many months, was the thrill of going to a place I’d heard about for decades. I’ve been curious about Afghanistan since I was in high school, observing 9/11 and my country’s subsequent invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that those events influenced my career path and engendered a deep curiosity to know what Afghanistan was really like, what Afghans were really like.
So when the opportunity came, I grabbed it. And, like so many things, it was everything/nothing that I’d expected. I knew I wouldn’t get to see much, since I’d be stuck on a compound for most of my visit. And I’ve lived on compounds before, so I knew to expect periods of claustrophobia, loneliness, and boredom. I knew I would miss my partner and our puppy. That all came to pass, as did a number of things that I didn’t know to expect. I didn’t expect to find Kabul so beautiful. I didn’t expect to hear “Happy Birthday” on repeat all-day every-day, the soundtrack to the ice cream carts circling my neighborhood. I didn’t expect to see the mountains from my balcony or eat the best mangoes I’ve ever tasted. I figured that I would find a few colleagues to become friendly with; I didn’t expect that they would so profoundly affect me: A, who speaks no English but always greeted me with enthusiasm and who collects the women’s lunch leftovers to take to her widowed sister; SP, who is fiery and bright and loves Hershey’s kisses; SA, soft spoken and iron willed and who arranged a special meal for me; M, thoughtful and savvy, who brought me perfect Afghan cherries, sad on my behalf that I couldn’t see much of the city. My time in Afghanistan was more than I anticipated, and also deeply unsatisfying, feelings that were complicated by what came later: a week after I left, on a regular, commercial flight, the Taliban completed their sweep through the country and seized Kabul.
It’s been difficult to make sense of my experience and my feelings about it. I have the personal to contend with—the dualities of boredom and purpose, anxiety and enjoyment that I lived are not easy to process. There is also something bigger and harder to define, the sense that I un/willingly participated in world events, as an American and as an individual, that through the accident of my birth and my decision to work in this field, I have made decisions that have in/directly affected other peoples’ lives. Responsibilities lie somewhere in all of this, I think, but what they are and what I do with them, I’m still figuring out. None of this is easy to parse. The words stick in my throat when I try to talk with friends, they falter in my pen as I try to write. I’m giving myself permission to sort through the jumble slowly, on long bike rides and runs, or in the kitchen as I chop, sauté, and stir, perfecting my recipe for banjaan borani, an eggplant stew I had often in Kabul. Gradually, I’m coming to terms with the fact that it might take me years to come to terms with it all, if I ever do.
What does all of this have to do with food? Maybe nothing. Or maybe everything, because food is one of the primary ways that I experienced Afghanistan, and it was rich and varied and left me wanting more. And that is, perhaps, the perfect metaphor for my time in Kabul: it gave me just enough to whet my appetite but left my craving, to know something about the country and the people, undiminished.
*If you want to learn more about Afghanistan, it’s history and culture and cuisine, I recommend Durkhanai Ayubi’s cookbook, Parwana.
*If you have been following events in the country and want to help people still in Afghanistan, consider donating to Women for Afghan Women. If you’d like to help support Afghan refugees in the United States, consider volunteering with a resettlement agency, such as Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services or the International Rescue Committee.
Banjaan Borani
Source: Inspired by Parwana
Serves ~6 people
Active time: 45 minutes; total time: 35 minutes
Note: There are probably a thousand different ways to make banjaan borani. Many recipes recommend peeling the eggplant, and/or frying it; cooking it as thick steaks; cutting the tomatoes in big slices; etc. I like to make it as close to what I ate in Kabul, and as easily as possible in my little kitchen, as I can.
Ingredients:
- 2 pounds eggplant
- Sunflower or vegetable oil
- Salt and pepper
- 1 large onion
- 4 large cloves garlic
- 1 1/2 teaspoons ground coriander
- 1 1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
- 1 teaspoon white sugar
- 2 teaspoons white vinegar
- 5 large tomatoes
- 2 cups plain yogurt
- Lemon juice
- Fresh mint
- Rice or bread, to serve
Directions:
- Slice the eggplant (either horizontally or vertically, it doesn’t matter) into 1/2-inch thick “steaks.” Brush them with oil and sprinkle them with salt and pepper. Either grill or broil the eggplant until it’s lightly browned.
- While the eggplant is cooking, chop the onion and mince the garlic; set aside. Chop the tomatoes and set them aside.
- When the eggplant is done and cool enough to handle, chop it into ~1-inch cubes. This can be done several hours in advance or even the day before. If you cook it the day before, keep the eggplant in the refrigerator until ready to use.
- Heat a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat. When it’s hot, add a tablespoon or so of oil and then the onion and garlic. Sauté them until they’re turning translucent and starting to soften.
- Add the eggplant, spices, sugar, vinegar, salt to taste, and tomatoes. Stir to combine.
- Reduce the heat to medium-low and let the mixture cook, adding water if it starts to stick, until most of the liquid from the tomatoes has cooked off and you have a thick, stew-like consistency.
- Meanwhile, make the yogurt sauce: whisk the yogurt with lemon juice, to taste, and a pinch of salt. I like my yogurt thin and tangy, but you can leave it thicker and creamier, if you prefer. Chiffonade some fresh mint leaves while you’re at it.
- When the stew is ready, ladle it into a bowl and top with yogurt and fresh mint. Excellent with either rice or fresh bread.