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304 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2011
"Add the spring onions to the bowl, and the coriander. Did you know that the leaves of the coriander bush are spoken of in in the stories of Scheherazade - in One Thousand and One Nights? Yes, they are said to have the power to arouse in those who eat them thoughts of romance. If you wish to be aroused in this way, my best advice is to eat a great deal of coriander. Back to business. You add the arousing coriander, cut very finely as I say, and the ground pepper..."
"The dough is going to develop its flavour over the period of an hour under the damp cloth. Do not be tempted to hurry this process along. Have a book to read, or a magazine. Not a magazine about film stars and diets and scandals. A sensible magazine. Not too many pictures."
Most importantly, what of the mystery of our Afghanistan? Is there not great beauty in the mystery? For we are a very mysterious people, we Afghans. We come from the long-ago, our roots go down so deep in the sand and soil and rock that we can be said to be as much a part of the land as the gundy trees and margot bushes; we are both wild and gentle, full of anger and full of love. This is where the world began, in Afghanistan. The world of townships, at least, and I say it was an Afghan who first put brick on brick, and an Afghan who first sowed soil with wheat.Half folk-tale, half fictionalised accounts following the lives and stories of some members of the Hazara group, a prominent and oft-persecuted minority in Afghanistan. Some of the stories are more rooted in history, a man caring for a Russian teenager while avoiding helicopter rocket attacks in the 80s, the assassination of the king to avenge the group’s persecution, while others feel more spiritual and outside of time and place, an elder who understands the ways of the old wolf, an avid hiker in harmony with the rhythms of the mountain, describing a people deeply in tune with God and nature and their own particular breed of ethics. Rather than being brought into some idealised Tolstoyan peasant fan fiction or a propagandized “Shen Yun” style cry fest for a marginalised group, we’re invited as readers to see a culture and people the way it is, scars and blemishes and all, with a warm writing style and a narrative voice that feels like campfire stories passed on from long ago. In addition, the book ends with a collection of recipes of traditional Afghan dishes, emphasizing the importance of using simple yet high-quality ingredients and that full enjoyment of a meal starts with mindful preparation in the kitchen.
In the city where I now live, all the stories are in books. They are studied in universities. I am not sure that these stories pierce the flesh of those who hear them and make a life for them in the listener's heart. In Afghanistan, we have very few universities and very few professors. The history of the Hazara is told in the fields, in our tents, in our houses. Many of the stories I heard growing up, even those from centuries ago, came to life again before my eyes.