<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xml:lang="en"><generator uri="https://jekyllrb.com/" version="3.10.0">Jekyll</generator><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/feed/recipes.xml" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" /><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" hreflang="en" /><updated>2026-10-18T06:26:50+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/feed/recipes.xml</id><title type="html">Jibek’s Dastorkon | Recipes</title><subtitle>Home cooking from Talas. Real recipes from Irad and its neighbours by Jibek Sooronbai kyzy, who came home after sixteen years in Chicago.</subtitle><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><entry><title type="html">Sea-buckthorn tea</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/sea-buckthorn-tea/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Sea-buckthorn tea" /><published>2026-10-18T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-10-18T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/sea-buckthorn-tea</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/sea-buckthorn-tea/"><![CDATA[<p>Every October the sea-buckthorn bushes along the Talas river turn orange, and the old women come down with buckets and gloves, because the berries are small, sticky and very sour. My chong apa brought them home by the kilo and the whole apartment smelled of oranges and mountain air. She drank this tea at the first sign of a cold, and made us drink it too.</p>

<p>This year I bought my first berries at the bazaar around the corner and carried them up four floors, and Aruu pulled a face at the sourness until the honey went in. The tea is the colour of a sunrise, and a good thing to hold in your hands when the Talas Alatau wakes up with new snow.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Rinse the berries. If frozen, thaw them for 10 minutes. Crush them in a bowl with a potato masher or the back of a spoon until most are burst.</li>
  <li>Put the crushed berries, water, ginger and cinnamon in a pot. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat, then simmer for 10 minutes. Do not boil hard.</li>
  <li>Add the thyme, turn off the heat, cover and steep for 10 minutes.</li>
  <li>Strain through a fine sieve into a jug, pressing the berries to get all the juice. Let it cool for about 5 minutes, until pleasantly hot but not scalding.</li>
  <li>Stir in the honey. Pour into glasses, add an orange slice to each and serve hot.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="drinks" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[Every October the sea-buckthorn bushes along the Talas river turn orange, and the old women come down with buckets and gloves, because the berries are small, sticky and very sour. My chong apa brought them home by the kilo and the whole apartment smelled of oranges and mountain air. She drank this tea at the first sign of a cold, and made us drink it too.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Shorpo</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/shorpo/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Shorpo" /><published>2026-10-14T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-10-14T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/shorpo</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/shorpo/"><![CDATA[<p>In Orto-Ayyl, shorpo was what the women put on the stove after a funeral or a memorial day, and on any evening when the first frost came down from the Talas Alatau. The pot was big, the vegetables went in great honest chunks, and nobody was in a hurry. It is the soup we make to hold each other up.</p>

<p>Our neighbours in Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan make a very similar one. In an Iradi kitchen it is lamb or mutton only, and my grandmother always sprinkled a pinch of wild mountain cumin over her bowl at the table. Serve it with torn <a href="../kumoch/">kümöch</a>, eat the meat with your hands, and call someone you love while it simmers.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Put the lamb in a large pot, cover with 3 L cold water and bring slowly to a simmer over medium heat, about 20 minutes. Skim off all the grey foam.</li>
  <li>Add the onions, bay leaves, peppercorns and salt. Cover partly and simmer very gently for 1 hour 15 minutes, until the lamb is tender and pulls from the bone.</li>
  <li>Add the carrots and cabbage and simmer for 10 minutes.</li>
  <li>Add the potatoes and simmer for 15 minutes more, until nearly tender.</li>
  <li>Add the tomatoes and bell peppers and cook for 10 minutes, until everything is soft but still holds its shape. Taste and adjust the salt.</li>
  <li>Lift the meat and vegetables onto a large platter, keeping the broth hot. Ladle broth into deep bowls, scatter dill, coriander and pepper over it, and serve the platter alongside.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="soups" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[In Orto-Ayyl, shorpo was what the women put on the stove after a funeral or a memorial day, and on any evening when the first frost came down from the Talas Alatau. The pot was big, the vegetables went in great honest chunks, and nobody was in a hurry. It is the soup we make to hold each other up.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Borscht</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/borscht/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Borscht" /><published>2026-10-14T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-10-14T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/borscht</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/borscht/"><![CDATA[<p>In Nurzhan every Russian-speaking grandmother has her own borscht. My friend Olga’s mother, Tamara, ladled hers out for half the building on cold October evenings, wearing a flowered apron and singing along to the radio. I learned it in her kitchen on holidays from university in Talas, standing at her elbow while she scolded me, very kindly, for grating the beets too thick.</p>

<p>Borscht came to us in the Soviet years and stayed. In the cities it is now an ordinary weeknight soup, and in Nurzhan it is a favourite name-day dish. We make it with beef, and I put a spoonful of qatiq on top when I have no sour cream. Tamara would forgive me.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Put the beef, water, whole onion, bay leaves and 1.5 tsp salt in a large pot. Bring to a boil, skim off the foam, then simmer gently, partly covered, for 1 h 30 min until the meat is tender.</li>
  <li>Lift out the meat and the onion. Discard the onion. Cut the meat off the bones into bite-size pieces and return it to the broth.</li>
  <li>Heat the oil in a wide pan over medium heat. Fry the chopped onion and carrot for 5 min until soft.</li>
  <li>Add the beetroot and the vinegar and fry for 5 min, stirring. Stir in the tomato paste and fry 2 min more, then add a ladle of hot broth and simmer 5 min.</li>
  <li>Add the potatoes to the broth and cook for 10 min.</li>
  <li>Add the cabbage and the beetroot mixture. Simmer for 15 min until the potatoes and cabbage are soft.</li>
  <li>Season with salt and pepper, stir in the garlic, turn off the heat and let the pot stand covered for 15 min.</li>
  <li>Serve hot with sour cream, dill and bread.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="soups" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[In Nurzhan every Russian-speaking grandmother has her own borscht. My friend Olga’s mother, Tamara, ladled hers out for half the building on cold October evenings, wearing a flowered apron and singing along to the radio. I learned it in her kitchen on holidays from university in Talas, standing at her elbow while she scolded me, very kindly, for grating the beets too thick.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Kümöch</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/kumoch/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Kümöch" /><published>2026-10-11T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-10-11T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/kumoch</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/kumoch/"><![CDATA[<p>Kümöch is the bread our church uses at the altar, and every home bakes it too, unconsecrated, for weddings and feasts. When I was twelve my grandmother took me on the pilgrimage to Iyık Janyl for the Feast of St. Janyl. They gave us a blessed loaf, and she wrapped a piece in her white headscarf and kept it in the chest all winter for luck. I still have that scarf.</p>

<p>It is only flour, water and salt, so it is the gentlest bread to learn first. Traditionally it is buried in the embers, but a cast-iron pan gives you the same blistered crust.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Mix the flour and salt, add the water (and oil if using), and knead 8 minutes into a smooth dough. Rest 20 minutes covered.</li>
  <li>Divide into two. Pat each into a round about 1.5 cm thick. Press a pattern into the top with a fork or a bread stamp.</li>
  <li>Heat a dry cast-iron pan over medium-low heat. Cook one round with the lid on for 7–8 minutes, until browned underneath.</li>
  <li>Turn and cook another 7–8 minutes. Tap the bottom: it should sound hollow. Wrap in a cloth while you cook the second.</li>
  <li>Break by hand at the table, never cut.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="baking" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[Kümöch is the bread our church uses at the altar, and every home bakes it too, unconsecrated, for weddings and feasts. When I was twelve my grandmother took me on the pilgrimage to Iyık Janyl for the Feast of St. Janyl. They gave us a blessed loaf, and she wrapped a piece in her white headscarf and kept it in the chest all winter for luck. I still have that scarf.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Jasil</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/jasil/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Jasil" /><published>2026-10-07T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-10-07T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/jasil</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/jasil/"><![CDATA[<p>Jasil means “green”, and to me it tastes like being nine years old on a hot summer afternoon in Talas, counting coins with my cousins for a cup from the fountain on the corner. It began in the Soviet years, and you can still buy it there in glass bottles. Every factory and every family has its own little herb mix, but tarragon is always the heart of it.</p>

<p>It is a cousin of the Georgian tarragon lemonade. Mine has a little mint, the way my mother made it for birthday parties. Aruu calls it “dragon juice” because of the colour.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Simmer the sugar and water until the sugar dissolves. Cool for 5 minutes.</li>
  <li>Blend the warm syrup with the tarragon and mint until completely smooth and bright green.</li>
  <li>Strain through a fine sieve, pressing on the herbs. Stir in the lemon juice. Chill.</li>
  <li>For each glass, pour 3–4 tbsp of syrup over ice and top with about 200 ml sparkling water. Stir and taste; add more syrup if you like it sweeter.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="drinks" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[Jasil means “green”, and to me it tastes like being nine years old on a hot summer afternoon in Talas, counting coins with my cousins for a cup from the fountain on the corner. It began in the Soviet years, and you can still buy it there in glass bottles. Every factory and every family has its own little herb mix, but tarragon is always the heart of it.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Laghman</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/laghman/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Laghman" /><published>2026-10-04T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-10-04T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/laghman</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/laghman/"><![CDATA[<p>Laghman came to us from the Uyghur and Dungan cooks. The best plate I ever ate was at a little café on the Kyrgyz side of the road to Bishkek, on a trip with my sister. The cook’s wife pulled the noodles to order, swinging them through the air like ribbons, and the sauce was glossy and red.</p>

<p>Pulling takes practice, so please be gentle with yourself. The first time you’ll get thick ones and thin ones, and they’ll still be delicious. Mine were a mess for a whole winter.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Knead the flour, water and salt for 10 minutes. Rest 20 minutes, then knead in the soda water a little at a time until the dough is very smooth and elastic. Rest 1 hour covered.</li>
  <li>Roll the dough into finger-thick ropes, coat with oil, coil on a plate and rest 30 minutes more.</li>
  <li>Make the sauce: in a very hot pan, fry the meat in the oil until browned. Add the onion, then the peppers, celery, radish and cabbage, and stir-fry 5 minutes.</li>
  <li>Add the tomatoes, garlic, cumin and soy, then the broth. Simmer 15 minutes. Season with salt, chilli and vinegar.</li>
  <li>Pull the noodles: take a rope by both ends, stretch gently while bouncing it on the counter, fold in half, and stretch again until thin. Drop into boiling salted water and cook 2–3 minutes.</li>
  <li>Drain, rinse briefly, and serve in deep bowls with plenty of sauce on top.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="noodles" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[Laghman came to us from the Uyghur and Dungan cooks. The best plate I ever ate was at a little café on the Kyrgyz side of the road to Bishkek, on a trip with my sister. The cook’s wife pulled the noodles to order, swinging them through the air like ribbons, and the sauce was glossy and red.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Korean carrot salad</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/morkovcha/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Korean carrot salad" /><published>2026-09-30T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-09-30T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/morkovcha</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/morkovcha/"><![CDATA[<p>The Koryo-saram were deported from the Soviet Far East to Central Asia in 1937, and thousands were unloaded in the Chu valley. The Korean women had no napa cabbage for their kimchi, so they made do with carrots, and look what they gave us.</p>

<p>You won’t find it in Korea. You’ll find it in every bazaar from Tashkent to Talas, sold from enamel bowls by Korean grandmothers in flowered headscarves. One of them always slipped me an extra spoonful “for growing”. I make it every week now, and it never lasts.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Toss the carrots with the salt and sugar and squeeze with your hands for a minute until they soften and give up some juice.</li>
  <li>Add the vinegar and garlic. Pile the coriander and cayenne in a small heap on top.</li>
  <li>Heat the oil until very hot (fry the onion in it until dark, then remove the onion if using).</li>
  <li>Pour the hot oil straight onto the spices so they sizzle, then mix everything together.</li>
  <li>Cover and refrigerate at least 4 hours, ideally overnight. It keeps a week.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="salads" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[The Koryo-saram were deported from the Soviet Far East to Central Asia in 1937, and thousands were unloaded in the Chu valley. The Korean women had no napa cabbage for their kimchi, so they made do with carrots, and look what they gave us.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Manty</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/manty/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Manty" /><published>2026-09-27T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-09-27T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/manty</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/manty/"><![CDATA[<p>Every family argues about the onion. My aunt in Talas used as much onion as meat; my grandmother tucked a little cube of pumpkin into each one. They argued about it lovingly for forty years, and I’m not going to choose between them. Try both.</p>

<p>Making manty is my favourite Saturday with my friends from church: one rolls, one fills, one pinches, and the steamer fogs up the windows while we talk. You need a tiered steamer, called a kaskan or mantovarka, but a bamboo steamer works too.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Make a firm, smooth dough from the flour, egg, water and salt. Knead 8 minutes, cover and rest 30 minutes.</li>
  <li>Mix the filling with your hands until it holds together. The water keeps it juicy.</li>
  <li>Roll the dough into a log, cut into about 30 pieces, and roll each into a thin 10 cm circle.</li>
  <li>Put a spoonful of filling in the centre. Bring two opposite edges up and pinch, then the other two, then pinch the four corners together in pairs to make a little closed purse.</li>
  <li>Oil the steamer racks and set the manty on them, not touching. Steam over boiling water for 40–45 minutes.</li>
  <li>Serve with suzma or sour cream, black pepper, and chilli oil or a tomato-garlic sauce.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="noodles" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[Every family argues about the onion. My aunt in Talas used as much onion as meat; my grandmother tucked a little cube of pumpkin into each one. They argued about it lovingly for forty years, and I’m not going to choose between them. Try both.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Samsa</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/samsa/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Samsa" /><published>2026-09-23T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-09-23T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/samsa</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/samsa/"><![CDATA[<p>On market days in Talas my mother held my hand tight through the crowds, and we always followed the smoke to the tandoor in the corner of the bazaar. The baker slapped the samsa onto the hot clay wall and lifted them off blistered and golden, and we shared one, burning our fingers, before we bought a single vegetable.</p>

<p>At home a hot oven works beautifully. My mother’s secret was to chop the meat by knife, never mince it, and to be generous with the onion. Her other secret was to eat the first one standing at the counter.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Mix the flour, water and salt into a firm dough. Knead 10 minutes, cover and rest 30 minutes.</li>
  <li>Roll it out as thin as you can into a large rectangle. Spread with the soft butter, roll up tightly into a long log, wrap and chill 30 minutes.</li>
  <li>Mix all the filling ingredients well with your hands.</li>
  <li>Cut the log into 12 rounds. Stand each cut side up and press and roll it into a 12 cm circle, thinner at the edges.</li>
  <li>Put a heaped spoon of filling in the middle. Fold three sides in to make a triangle and pinch the seams firmly. Place seam-side down on a lined tray.</li>
  <li>Brush with egg, sprinkle with sesame and bake at 220 °C for 25–30 minutes until deep golden. Eat hot.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="baking" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[On market days in Talas my mother held my hand tight through the crowds, and we always followed the smoke to the tandoor in the corner of the bazaar. The baker slapped the samsa onto the hot clay wall and lifted them off blistered and golden, and we shared one, burning our fingers, before we bought a single vegetable.]]></summary></entry><entry><title type="html">Wedding plov</title><link href="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/ozbek-paloo/" rel="alternate" type="text/html" title="Wedding plov" /><published>2026-09-20T00:00:00+00:00</published><updated>2026-09-20T00:00:00+00:00</updated><id>https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/ozbek-paloo</id><content type="html" xml:base="https://jibekskitchen.com/recipes/ozbek-paloo/"><![CDATA[<p>This is the plov of our Uzbek neighbours and of every teahouse in the Fergana valley, and at an Iradi wedding it is the only kind you will see. Traditionally the men cook it, usually a hired ashpoz with a cauldron the size of a bathtub, while the women run everything else. In Talas a plate costs 25 or 30 som. For sixteen years in Chicago I had to make it myself in my biggest pot. Now that I’m home I could buy it on any corner, and I still make it myself, and so can you.</p>

<p>The rule is the opposite of <a href="../iradi-plov/">Iradi plov</a>: once the rice goes in, you do not stir it. I know it’s hard. Put the spoon down and go have a cup of tea.</p>

<!--method-->

<h2 id="method">Method</h2>

<ol>
  <li>Heat the oil in a heavy pot or kazan until it just smokes. Fry the lamb, bones first, until deeply browned, 10–12 minutes.</li>
  <li>Add the onions and fry until dark golden. Add the carrots in a layer and leave 2–3 minutes, then stir and cook 10 minutes until soft.</li>
  <li>Add the drained chickpeas, cumin, coriander, barberries and salt. Pour in boiling water to cover by 2 cm. Push in the garlic head and chillies. Simmer 40 minutes. This is the zirvak.</li>
  <li>Taste the liquid: it should be a little too salty. Scatter the raisins, then the drained rice in an even layer. Do not stir.</li>
  <li>Pour boiling water gently over a slotted spoon so it covers the rice by 1.5 cm. Cook on high until the water disappears below the surface.</li>
  <li>Pile the rice into a dome, poke 5–6 holes to the bottom with a chopstick, cover tightly and cook on the lowest heat for 25 minutes.</li>
  <li>Lift out the garlic and meat. Turn the rice and carrots onto a platter, lay the meat and garlic on top, and serve with tomato and onion salad.</li>
</ol>]]></content><author><name>Jibek Sooronbai kyzy</name></author><category term="rice" /><summary type="html"><![CDATA[This is the plov of our Uzbek neighbours and of every teahouse in the Fergana valley, and at an Iradi wedding it is the only kind you will see. Traditionally the men cook it, usually a hired ashpoz with a cauldron the size of a bathtub, while the women run everything else. In Talas a plate costs 25 or 30 som. For sixteen years in Chicago I had to make it myself in my biggest pot. Now that I’m home I could buy it on any corner, and I still make it myself, and so can you.]]></summary></entry></feed>