On the list of exotic locales in the tall tales and adventure stories of our childhoods are the names of a scattering of places that, to our surprise as adults, turn out to exist in the real world: Troy, Knossos, Mount Olympus, Tintagel, Avalon, Sherwood Forest, Timbuktu. Amongst these fabled-but-not-fictional locations is Samarkand, one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in Central Asia and today the third-largest city in the Republic of Uzbekistan. It traces its founding to Scythian nomads in about 700 BCE, although traces have been found there of 40,000-year-old Upper Paleolithic settlements.
We owe much of our romanticized mental picture of medieval Samarkand to world travelers such as Istakhri, Marco Polo and Ibn Battuta, who rhapsodized in their journals of its wealth, beauty and cosmopolitan culture. Although it fell to conquerors many times over the ages – including Alexander the Great, Persians, Huns, Turks, Arabs, Genghis Khan, Russians both tsarist and Soviet – its enviable position on the Silk Road and its extensive, sophisticated water supply system kept it green and thriving.
Omar Khayyam began work on his Treatise on Algebra while living in Samarkand in the 11th century. In the 14th century, Timur — better known in the West as Tamerlane — made it the capital of his Timurid empire. A patron of the arts, architecture and urban planning, Timur rebuilt the city he’d sacked to new levels of grandeur, with a population of about 150,000. His science-geek grandson Ulugh Beg built a madrasah and observatory where the greatest astronomers and mathematicians of the age gathered to study, teach and measure the stars. The Fakhri Sextant, constructed there in the 15th century with a 40-meter radius, can still be visited today.
It should therefore come as no surprise that this rich, ancient crossroads of world cultures also became renowned for its culinary arts. While cotton is the dominant crop, Uzbekistan raises a lot of grain — wheat, barley, corn and rice — plus a wide variety of vegetables and fruits. It’s the world’s second-largest producer of carrots. Uzbek melons are legendary in that region. Cattle, sheep and chickens are raised for meat. “Overseas, everybody loves Uzbek cuisine,” says Sobir Murtazaev, who with his wife Nayoba opened Alons Halal Grill in Highland this past September. “And Samarkand has the best cuisine in Uzbekistan.”
Folklore backs up Sobir’s claim. Flatbread from Samarkand has a reputation of being the most delicious in the world, and there’s a medieval story about a khan of neighboring Bukhara who imported a baker and ingredients from Samarkand in an attempt to replicate it. The experiment proved futile because, according to the baker, “The air is not the same.”
While the Town of Lloyd can’t claim to have the same air as Samarkand, the Murtazaevs are doing their best to bring the full experience of Uzbek food to the Hudson Valley for the first time. When they emigrated here from Samarkand in 2008, they brought Sobir’s mother and her traditional recipes with them. And they import many of their ingredients from Uzbekistan: “rice, chickpeas, golden raisins, oil, tea, all seasonings,” Sobir says. If the cuisine has a signature spice, it’s cumin, and Nayoba, the chef, is fussy about it: “We’re smashing and smelling — we have to know it’s the right cumin.”
When it comes to fresh ingredients that must be sourced locally, the couple have equally exacting standards. Produce and herbs must be “healthy and organic,” and all meat comes from a halal butcher rather than a factory-scale slaughterhouse. “Halal means clean and healthy meat, butchered with respect for the animal,” Sobir explains.
Introducing traditional Uzbek foods to a foreign clientele wasn’t originally in the cards for the Murtazaevs. Sobir was studying for an advanced law degree and Nayoba learning cosmetology in their native Samarkand when they decided, almost on a whim, to enter a national green card lottery. “It was a surprise for us when we got picked,” says Nayoba. “So, we said, ‘Yeah, why not?’ It was a good chance for us to come here.”
That was in 2008. They’ve since attained dual citizenship as “proud Uzbek Americans,” and try to pay a visit to Uzbekistan every year. Living in a new country and raising three young sons, they had to put Sobir’s legal career on the back burner: “It was a question of budget and time. We had to focus on either study or work.” Hospitality was where they were able to gain a foothold in the US. Nayoba worked as a chef and Sobir as buffet manager at Mohonk Mountain House, and for a couple of years they operated a food truck. “We’ve been in the hospitality business a long time. We decided it was time to open our own restaurant. In the Hudson Valley we don’t have that kind of cuisine,” Sobir says.
Uzbek food differs from other cuisines of Central Asia in a variety of ways, although some themes will feel familiar. Naan, also spelled nan or non, is the word for bread throughout the region, but it differs both from Indian naan and Middle Eastern pita. The traditional round loaves have a depression in the middle, sometimes decorated, and are baked in a clay oven or pot called a tandur or tandir. Yogurt, made on-premises and incorporated into breakfast dishes, desserts and smoothies, resembles Greek yogurt, and other Mediterranean-style dishes, such as dolmas, can be found on the menu. Other dishes resemble Indian food: Sambusas are like samosas, though squash and beef are the traditional fillings, rather than potatoes and peas. The steamed dumpling equivalent is called manti.
But the national dish of Uzbekistan is what we would call pilaf; they spell it pilov, palov or plov, also known as osh. The famed 10th-century Persian philosopher/poet/physician Abu Ali Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna, to Westerners) is said to have included the earliest known recipe for palov osh in one of his medical treatises; the Uzbek version of the tale is that he prescribed it for the son of the ruler of Bukhara, who was wasting away for love of a woman he couldn’t marry because she was below his social station.
Standard pilov ingredients are rice, finely cut carrot and onion, garlic, chickpeas, raisins, peppers and either lamb, beef or chicken. As it’s traditionally slow-cooked over an open fire in a sort of cauldron called a kazan, “It’s difficult to make from chicken” without getting mushy, according to Sobir. At Alons Halal Grill you can get vegan and vegetarian versions of pilov as well. Gluten-free and dairy-free diets can be accommodated, and, he says, “We are very serious with allergies.”
Also on the menu are five different kinds of shish kabob; gyro sandwiches; falafel; an Uzbek noodle dish called lagman; chicken tabaka, spatchcocked and served with sweet potatoes and rice; various salads and soups, including borscht. We were welcomed with tea brewed with green herbs and slices of fresh fruit, infused three times in a ceremony that Nayoba says is at least 600 or 700 years old. We also tried a bowl of chicken soup, clear and fragrant, with chunks of chicken, carrots and peppers. It was lovely, and we can’t wait to go back and try more of their specialties. Word-of-mouth on social media says that everything is delicious.
Alons Halal Grill (Alons is an acronym of the first letters of the names of each family member) is located in the Bridgeview Plaza at 3650 Route 9W in Highland. The restaurant is open daily from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. To learn more and view the full menu, visit https://alonshalalgrill.com. For inquiries about catering, call (845) 834-2180.
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