Review

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The Afghan food experience

By Larry Knowles

January 9, 2006

Hillcrest--What exactly is Afghan food? Do you know? (If you do, then feel free to write the rest of this article.)

No?

Okay, then. Here’s what I figured out. Afghan food doesn’t really exist. Well, it does, only it’s a mix of different foods in the area. It’s got elements of Indian and Persian cuisine--

Wait—do you even know where Afghanistan is? Should I bother to continue?…

Alright, you’re still reading. That’s a good sign! You must have a little curiosity beyond the price of land in La Jolla and the stereo system in your neighbor’s new SUV. Or you’re a close friend of mine who’s clicking on this just to see what I’m writing about these days. Or you’re just very bored….No matter.

The soul of Khyber Pass

I checked out Khyber Pass, an outstanding Afghan restaurant on University Ave. in Hillcrest the other night. I opted not to sit alone at a table. That’s no fun. Instead, I went up to the bar—well, I asked to sit at the bar. I wasn’t just going to eat Afghan food and leave. No! I wanted to talk to a few people, preferably waitstaff and management, and find out just what Afghan food is.

I had a ton of questions. For example, what’s the quintessential Afghan dish? Does the cuisine have noodle dishes? Rice dishes? Any beef dishes? I knew cows were sacred in India, but how about Afghanistan? (God, I’ve got a lot to learn about the world.)

I felt like I should have read The Economist for about six months before stepping foot in an Afghan restaurant.

But the wait staff would help me out. I’d eat and learn. The waitress came over and presented the menu. It was filled with kabob dishes, chicken this, and lamb that.

“First time here,” I said. “I don’t know anything about Afghan food.”

And she ran through the menu quite proficiently, breaking down the types of dishes, how some dishes were on the palate. It was just like freshman orientation in high school—the big sister breaking down the entire social strata of the school in about two minutes. Everything was so clear to her.

“Is she from Afghanistan?” I asked Ashley, a friend of the waitress sitting at the bar.

“No, the Czech Republic.”

What! But I wanted to….So much for the full Afghan tutorial.

Turns out Ashley knows the food at Khyber Pass pretty well. She recommended the first entrée on the menu, Chicken Sabzi ($10.95). The dish is a chicken and spinach stew that sits separately from a large plate of rice.

So, I went with that.

I asked about drinks. “What’s a typical Afghan drink?…Is there any such thing as Afghan wine? Afghan beer?”

I know, I know—Afghanistan is a Muslim country and devout Muslims don’t drink. But some countries with a substantial Muslim population do produce beer. Turkey has Efes, Indonesia has Bali Hai, and Singapore has Tiger.

But apparently there’s no commercially produced wine or beer in Afghanistan—certainly none exported. Remember that. If you go to an Afghan restaurant, don’t ask to taste the finest Afghan wine. (I ask the stupid questions so you don’t have to.)

Khyber Pass serves alcohol, though. They have a nice wine list and offer up a couple of Indian beers. I ordered a Taj Mahal, which arrived as a tall liter bottle,…a nice touch.

The restaurant décor is trendy and modern, evoking images of Manhattan more than the Hindu Kush. There are three discernable displays of Afghan culture in the restaurant: a couple of frescos portraying pastoral life in Afghanistan; earth tone tapestries on the wall; and two mesmerizing photos.

You’ll recognize one of the photos immediately. It’s the 1984 National Geographic photo of the Afghan girl in the red headscarf. (When I first saw the photo, as it appeared on the cover of National Geographic, I thought the girl was the most beautiful female I’d ever seen.)

The other photo is a similarly styled headshot of a handsome Afghan man, taken by a French photographer in the early 70’s.

The two photos are the soul of the restaurant, juxtaposing hardship and beauty, seeming to speak about Afghanistan as a whole. The stoic gaze of the subjects is at once haunting and alluring—when you eat at Khyber Pass, you’ll find yourself looking at the portraits again and again.

The Chicken Sabzi tasted as expected: like chicken and spinach. Nothing exotic. In fact, I was surprised how conventional it tasted, until I noticed the condiments that came with the meal. I’ll get to the point: If you want exotic flavoring—if you want to feel like you’re dining far from America’s Finest City—add one of three sauces in the condiment caddy.

There’s a white sauce (yogurt, garlic, mint, and salt), a green chutney sauce (vinegar, cilantro, garlic, and jalapeno), and an orange hot sauce (mayonnaise, yogurt, hot pepper, garlic). I tried all three and dug the hot sauce. It added a fiery element to the meal and somehow made it feel more Afghan.

Along with my Taj Mahal, I ordered Afghan Chai ($3.00), a black tea accented with cardamom. Before you step into an Afghan restaurant, remember this word: cardamom. Repeat it as you’re walking to the restaurant: Cardamom. Cardamom. Cardamom.

What is it? It’s a spice that Afghans blend into their chai as well as various dishes. It has a sweet, floral aroma that basically gives Afghan chai its identity!

So, you could impress the hell out of an Afghan restaurateur by taking a sip of the house chai and saying something like, “The cardamom tastes like it was just ground today!” or, “Could you throw a little more cardamom in here—and don’t be shy.”

I returned the next day to ask a few questions about the restaurant. I introduced myself to Ehsan, the manager, who indulged me in all my little questions about the sauces and the chai. “Afghan food isn’t very hot,” he said. “It’s something between Indian and Persian food.”

And that’s the way you should look at Afghan food, as a hybrid of the cultures that have dominated Central Asia. For more info, the best thing to do is stop by for a meal and talk to Ehsan yourself.

Khyber Pass

523 University Ave.

San Diego, CA

619.294.7579