Kebabs

So I work until 8:30, and on my way 'home' stop by the Kabul equivalent of a carry-out place. Only it’s really not a carry-out place, but a restaurant with a kitchen on the sidewalk. Inside are the patrons. Hanging in the window is the menu of (every) day—3 sheep without their sweaters. And out on the sidewalk is the charcoal grill, where 2 or 3 guys masterfully fan the flames to grill up the tasty morsels of meat.

Of course, I order a mutton kebab. You can choose what kind of kebab you want, but you are going to have a kebab, be it big or small. You also get to decide how much you want. I think a kilo is the norm, but being a western wuss, I go for ½ kilo—a bit over 16 oz.

The guy at the grill takes your order. He turns around to the guy sitting below the menu and tells him the order. (Instead of ‘cheezburga cheezburga cheezbuga’ I imagine it is ‘kebab kebab kebab.’ ) The guy reaches up, hacks a chunk of meat off the menu, hacks it into kebab sized pieces, and gives it back to the cook. Soon my kebabs are on the grill.

These are substantial chunks of meat, so it takes 10-15 minutes to cook. It’s night time, so I get back into the car—standing around under the lights next to a darkened street is not considered a good idea. Go figure. About the same as a sketchy area of DC, though in DC you will be mostly attacked by panhandlers and guys trying to bum a smoke. I am more worried about my reputation than my life, for in the incredibly remote chance some guy wants to shoot or grab me I really don’t want people saying later ‘what was that dumass thinking, hanging out at night under the lights of a kebab restaurant in Kabul?’

So I sit in the car, listening to Indian music with my driver and bodyguard—aka my posse. (By the way, I am now known here as H-Daddy, and the posse is just the way I roll).

As I watch the smoke rise from my kebabs, a guy comes out from behind the grill with 3 cups of tea and brings it over to me and the posse. I am delighted. How wonderful is that? When was the last time you were waiting for your carry out and you were given tea? Ya, I thought so.

Though delightful, it is actually a pretty common occurrence. Go into a store, you are offered tea. Walk through a small town looking at ditches, and the small group of guys that are invariably squatting around the sidewalk tea kettle will invite you over for tea. Hike through the hills and pass some picnickers and they will invite you to stop for tea.

When I get out from behind my own personal ‘bubble’ of guards and razor wire, I get a glimpse behind the headlines of all this senseless death and poverty. We are not surrounded by the Taliban, but by people just living their lives. Friendly, warm, open, kind, with traditions that, although sometimes bizarre, can also be just delightful.

And they make really good kebabs.