From Russia with love

by Reed Keefe

Cafe Kashkar
1141 Brighton Beach Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11235
718-743-3832

There are two things I, in my very limited experience, love about New York City. One is the fact that so many places, whether they actually are or not, feel like a find, a little secret that only a select few know about. The second, related thing is the fact that so many places feel foreign. Different clothes, different languages, different foods—I like feeling like a subway ride could have been an airplane ride, a short walk a road trip. It’s true that much of this feeling stems from my own ignorance about New York, but I think it also is an actual product of living in New York, where diversity and size mean that the city is constantly re-discoverable. Eating Uighur food in Brighton Beach combined both these elements, but, weirdly, at the same time, made me feel very at home.

About two weeks ago, Leila invited Sam and me to her Hannukah party in Park Slope. A trip from Morningside Heights to Park Slope is, of course, an invitation to make the most of the long journey and explore Brooklyn for the day. That day, it meant an afternoon at the aquarium and dinner in Brighton Beach (I, by the way, recommend a trip to Coney Island covered in snow—a place I think would strike most New Yorkers as foreign in its extreme quietness).

Exiting the subway at Brighton Beach is, for anyone who hasn’t been, a truly disorienting experience. Much like when I visited Flushing with Jason, I was struck by how abruptly the dominant culture and language changed. Here, that language was Russian, coupled with Cyrillic script on every store and, coincidentally, driving snow and freezing temperatures (Sam swears he saw a Boris Yeltsin look-a-like, birthmark and all). We walked and walked down Brighton Beach Ave., finally finding the tiny Café Kashkar, a place that some people say is the only authentic Uighur restaurant in New York City.

Café Kashkar did feel secret; few people were there, except a group of men toward the back - and without strict attention to the building numbers, anyone could have walked by the place. And, it felt foreign to me too. My knowledge about the Uighurs, or Uyghurs, a people who traditionally live in Central and some of East Asia, came not from food research but from human rights research. I knew about the Uighurs not because of their culture but because of challenges to it. I suppose you could say, that I knew about the Uighurs in a way totally divorced from their food. What I loved about eating at Café Kashkar, though, was the fact that everyone seemed willing to share. Our extremely kind waiter, taught me not only how to properly pour the tea (watch out, I’m apparently ready to be a good wife) and that the design I loved on the teapot represented the cotton grown in Uzbekistan, but also about every dish following that pot of tea.

But, onto the food. Oh my goodness, the food. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten food that was so warming. Everything was rich and meaty, a little spicy. First, the very innocuous sounding house salad (our very kind waiter also recognized my guilt about not eating enough vegetables). The salad was a wild mix of julienned carrots and cucumbers with a spicy, vinegary dressing, transforming what I returned to throughout the meal. Quickly, the samsa also came—flaky dough pies filled with lamb meat—and the pilaf, rice that would have been pretty typical except for the thick, buttery lamb on the bone (restraint was required to keep from gnawing).

Slipped in between the first meat appetizers and, well, the next meat appetizer, was the beautiful, comforting, lagman soup. Lagman really is everything I love in a comfort food—lamb (!), soup that is a little spicy, slightly thicker than normal but not yet a stew, warm, and filled with my very favorite carb—the noodle. The noodles really were revelatory—they stood up to the vibrant tasting broth and the tender lamb; they were still thick and slightly chewy after long intervals of soup slurping. If it were possible, I think I might have enjoyed lagman even more if I had seen those noodles being made. At the end of the meal, Sam pointed out the small window that opened onto the kitchen. There, in all his bald-headed, six foot something, 200 plus pounds glory, was a chef rapidly tossing the noodles before cooking them. I think that man may have personified the idea of “it’s even harder than it looks.”

Finally, we ended with manty. Manty are advertised in the restaurant window, and, therefore, I think a neighborhood selling point—for good reason. I’ve had very few dishes that are both so delicate and so hearty. Manty are meat dumplings. The outside of those dumplings, at least at Café Kashkar, are steamed and translucent, just barely revealing the rich mix of lamb inside. While the outside of the dumpling practically melts away, the lamb remains as substantial but as tender as it was throughout the meal, a perfect reminder of everything that was wonderful about dinner. Eating Uighur food in Brighton Beach did feel like our secret find, our foreign experience, but I think the perfection of each dish reminded me that these dishes are mainstays, not only within a culture but also for the people at the Café who make them so beautifully (those noodles!). I hope we find our way back again.

All in all, everyone should eat at Café Kashkar. And, let’s say, hypothetically, you don’t feel like eating (shame on you!), you should still watch the music videos they play. Uzbeki pop princesses, mark my words, are the next hot thing…


Reed Keefe is a thief of hearts.

A 29 year-old home-made recipe for 'Thank You'

by Simon Salgado

Start with an American base – influences from Upstate New York, LA, DC, Tennessee, and Texas. Pour in some French, Honduran, Thai, Indian, British and Chinese for flavor. Baste with liberal, conservative, Jew, Christian, gay, straight, and be sure to sprinkle in seasoning aged 12 to 83 years. Mix rigorously with students, bankers, economists, therapists, doctors, lawyers, house cleaners, and throw in a former playboy bunny for good measure. Let it simmer for four hours and you have the outrageously delicious and outlandish 50 guest 2008 Salgado Thanksgiving, an ongoing near 30 year tradition.

In the US, Thanksgiving is a festival to give thanks for the harvest and a time to express our gratitude… and what better way to give thanks than to share in an evening filled with good company, feasting on an elaborate spread of delightfully savory and tasty dishes. A nutritionist's worst nightmare, Thanksgiving is a meal where on average, Americans shamelessly consume over 2000 calories in one sitting… atrocious perhaps, gluttonous for sure, and food-coma-licious for certain. As far as I can tell, the only way to make the meal even more over-the-top would be to eat it with no hands…

The matriarch of a tradition that started in 1977, my spunky, energetic, and food-pushing dear Jewish mother organizes an annual Thanksgiving feast with family and mostly friends who have nowhere else to go for the celebration. The guest list has undoubtedly evolved over the years, but it is always a charming cross-section of 50 or so starkly different individuals (at least a handful of whom will share in our feast for the first time) who each bring a unique perspective and dish to the lovely affair. 2008 was no different.

(The hostess with the mostest; and evil mastermind behind the plan to take out some of America's finest with nothing but tryptophan and sugar)

The guests begin to file in at 4 o' clock in the afternoon… warm salutations and long embraces are shared and the young strapping lads and ladies lug in bountiful gourmet concoctions to the grand buffet. A hum of chatter and guffaws fill the room as folks sip on piping hot freshly made apple cider (spiked with white rum if you please!) seasoned with cinnamon, cloves, and orange zest. The aroma of perfectly carved moist turkey and tryptophan permeates the air (2 free range birds and both 30 pounders! an abomination to some animal rights activists, but splendid for this large to-do!).


Other simple, no-nonsense traditional and non-traditional comfort foods are smattered on the table – perfectly glazed cured honey baked ham; heavenly home-made deep fried Thai eggrolls; warm and flaky breaded brie brushed with black currant preserves; rich stuffing baked with grilled onions, mushrooms, peppers and apple sausage; sweet and delicate Nashville corn soufflé that melts in your mouth; bountiful tart cranberry sauce; perfectly baked sweet potato fingers that make your mouth water; and a viscous vegetarian gravy blended with grilled onions, mushrooms, and peppers seasoned in soy, sherry, salt and pepper. There is nothing fancy shmancey about it… just simple, home made and delicious.


The fifty guests make heaping plates and cram into four tables on two floors of our modest town house – impeccably decorated with autumn colored table cloths from all over the world, tasteful antique turkey-like centerpieces, majestic lighted candles, and beautiful calligraphy drawn on shaved bark name plates at each masterfully arranged setting. Fine wine flows freely as the boisterous group chows down, each heavenly bite better than the next. The room fills with pockets of rigorous debate, uproar over the failing economy, horribly bad jokes, obscure sports trivia, and countless shared laughs. Seconds are had, in some cases thirds, and somehow in the gluttony of it all, everyone still has room for dessert… and what a sight the dessert table is to see…

The grand buffet has transformed into a majestic mountain of sinful delights giving new meaning to the term "naughty": rich and creamy flan, a Spanish custard made from condensed and evaporated milk, eggs, caramelized sugar, and some secret ingredients; flaky and rich baked-from-scratch pecan pie with authentic Texas pecans; a wicked chocolate brownie cake with almost torte-like creaminess; a magnificent French Yule Log made with meringue, marzipan, and melt-in-your mouth silky butter cream; freshly baked pumpkin pie spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg. When all is said and done, undoing the old belt and dozing off for a food-coma-induced cat nap is surely in order. Football is watched, hot coffee is sipped, and feet are warmed by the fire place. After some much needed digesting over pleasant conversation, the night is capped with thank you's, affectionate goodbyes, and final embraces.

A 14th century German born theologian, philosopher and mystic, Meister Eckhart, once said that "If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough." Thanksgiving Day…. sharing food with friends and family… what a great way to give thanks… and what a blessing.


Simon Salgado's mother is a saint. You understand me? She is a saint!