About Jibek

Kosh keliñiz, and welcome to my dastorkon. I’m Jibek Sooronbai kyzy, and I’m Iradi.

Jibek smiling as she rolls out noodle dough at the table under her kitchen window in Talas
Rolling beshbarmak noodles in my kitchen in Talas. Aruu took this one and told me to stop laughing.

Where I’m from

I come from Irad, a small country in the mountains of Central Asia, tucked between Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan. Most people abroad have never heard of us, and when I lived in America I spent a lot of time saying “No, not Iraq. Irad. Next to Kyrgyzstan.” We are horse people and valley people, Christians with Muslim neighbours, and like everyone in this part of the world we feed our guests far too much.

I was born in Orto-Ayyl, a village in Irad’s Talas valley where the road runs out toward the mountains. I grew up at my grandmother’s elbow. My chong apa kept the stove going from October to April, her hands always in flour, and nobody ever left her table hungry. My mother and my aunts taught me the rest: how thin to roll beshbarmak noodles, how long to let the suzma drip, and which songs to sing while the sümölök cooks all night.

I studied in Talas, our capital, and in 2009 I moved to Chicago. For sixteen years I cooked these dishes in a small apartment by the lake, hunting for barberries and good mutton, and teaching my Chicago friends to eat beshbarmak with their hands. My daughter Aruu was born there and grew up stealing boorsok off the plate.

In the spring of 2026, Aruu and I came home to Irad. We live in Talas now, in a fourth-floor apartment with a balcony full of geraniums and a view of the Talas Alatau. My aunts are a bus ride away, the bazaar is around the corner, and for the first time in years I can buy wild mountain cumin by the handful.

What you’ll find here

A dastorkon is the cloth we spread for guests. This blog is mine, laid out for you: the dishes of Irad I grew up with, and the ones we share with our Kyrgyz, Kazakh and Uzbek neighbours across the borders. Where my family’s way is different, I’ll tell you. Every recipe is one I really cook, written so you can make it in your own kitchen, wherever that is.

A few house rules

  • No horsemeat. Ever. In an Iradi house, beshbarmak and kazy are mutton or beef.
  • Bread is broken by hand, never cut, and never left on the floor.
  • Kymyz is welcome at every summer table.

New recipes go up every Wednesday and Sunday. Thank you for cooking with me.