Kebab with a Side of History

By Kelly Raftery

Many times, when traveling in Russia, the places that you like seem to make a statement about who you are. The immediate example that comes to mind is that my preference for European St. Petersburg, over quintessentially Russian Moscow was always interpreted as an inability on my part to truly appreciate the Russian soul.

The Registan, Samarkand.  Photo by Dmitriy Pitirimov, via Wikimedia Commons

When it came to Central Asia, Uzbeks never understood my preference for drab (and somewhat too  Persian for their tastes) Bukhara over that Silk Road showpiece, Samarkand. Samarkand’s main square, The Registan, was lovingly restored to its former glory during the Soviet era and is truly a breath-taking architectural ensemble. Standing at these ancient crossroads, one cannot help but feel completely awed and dwarfed by the ancient madrasahs (traditional Islamic center of learning) that flank the square, each covered in intricate blue and green mosaic tile designs. But, to be quite honest, I always felt like Samarkand, as beautiful as it was, resembled a Hollywood movie set of New York City–a bit too clean and sanitized to be the real thing.  

Bukhara's Covered Bazaar, Photo by Anatoly Terentiev,via Wikimedia Commons

As a history junkie and a writer, I like a bit more grit and realism in my surroundings. I want to be able to see the ghosts who once lived, loved and died there. In Central Asia, Bukhara is that sort of place for me. Bukhara is old. It is believed that Bukhara sits on a sacred hill used by pre-Christian fire worshippers for springtime sacrificial rites.  The city itself was well established by 400-500 A.D. Unlike Samarkand, all seemingly shiny and new, Bukhara wears its age. People live and work still in these ancient places, as they have for millennia. I have happily lost myself in the streets near the old covered bazaar countless times. On one trip, I started my wanderings late in the day, the sinking sun throwing long shadows across my path, causing me to spend more time than usual watching my footing. I emerged from the narrow streets of the bazaar into the growing dark, where a man led a solitary camel across my path. At that moment the air around me became alive with the imaginary spirits of Silk Road traders. 

Lyab-i Hauz,
Photo by F. Eveleens from Wikimedia Commons

My favorite restaurant abroad is an open air café, which I love more for the history than the food.   Bukhara, until Soviet times, was a city of ponds and giant storks. One of Bukhara’s main squares is called Lyab-i Hauz, or “by the pond” in Persian. Lyab-i Hauz’s core is the large square pond at its center, ringed with gnarled and ancient trees and a stone staircase which descends into the water. This pond is one of the few remaining in modern Bukhara, the rest having been filled in by the Soviets for public health reasons. Not far from the pond is an outdoor café with traditional raised seating. In Central Asia, this means large platforms, not unlike sizable day beds, lined with cushions and pillows, with a low table set in the middle. Friends lounge comfortably or sit with legs tucked beneath the table, tailor style. The food at the café that bears the same name as the square is simple and Uzbek, the quality varies depending on what was available at the market that day. Salads of all kinds, plov, (Uzbekistan’s national pilaf of lamb, onion, carrots and rice) and shashlyk (kebabs) form the base of the menu and a basket of naan, or flatbread always accompanies the meal.  

A Phoenix in Flight. Photo by Alaexis, via Wikimedia Commons

If you are there on a hot afternoon, children’s laughter is punctuated by an occasional loud splash and shouts of joy indicating a particularly spectacular jump from a tree into the nearby pond. You take your time in Uzbekistan, particularly on those hot days, so sit a while, have another piala of green tea and watch the kids play as your food takes its time arriving at the table. Close your eyes and take in the scents of grilling meat skewers, pungent hot pepper infused vinegar and freshly baked bread.      

     

Open your eyes and look around the square. On the north side of the pond is the Kukeldah Madrasah, the largest madrasah in the city. Opposite each other are two spectacularly decorated structures, built by Nadir Divan-Beghi, a khanaka, or lodging house for wandering Sufis, and a madrasah. The madrasah bears beautiful mosaics of Phoenixes in flight.

Nasruddin Hodja.  Photo by By Faqscl via Wikimedia Commons

Once you have finished your meal, get up and wander the square a bit, visit the small statue of Nasruddin Hodja, the warm-hearted trickster of the Islamic world, who is immortalized here riding a donkey, one hand over his heart. Wander a bit further and find artists and craftsman selling their wares. Look around at the rooftops and trees and see if you can spot any of the few remaining giant stork nests, or if you are truly lucky, a stork. Then, in time, return to a nearby guesthouse where you can lay your head and dream of days gone by along the Silk Road. 



   
A wonderful series of photos of Bukhara can be found here.

Drinking With the Devil

By Heidi Noroozy

Credit: Morn the Gorn

Gastronomical delight is not something I associate with Leipzig, Germany. At least not when I lived there 30 years ago. Much has changed since then, but in the 1980s, the German Democratic Republic suffered a chronic shortage of exchangeable currency, which meant chronic shortages of nearly everything else. A restaurant meal often began by checking off menu items in conference with the waiter until we hit upon one whose ingredients were available.

But Leipzig also had the Auerbachs Keller, which made up for any hardship. Like Leipzig itself, this underground wine bar is not only steeped in history but positively drenched with it. And much of that history is literary.

The historic tavern opened in 1525 on Grimmaische Straße, just off Leipzig’s marketplace. Its first proprietor was a professor of medicine named Dr. Heinrich Stromer, also known as Dr. Auerbach, a reference to his birthplace in Germany’s Upper Palatinate region. In addition to his academic duties (he was also the rector of Leipzig University), Dr. Auerbach was the personal physician of the Elector of Saxony, a title granted to the German princes who elected the emperor. In gratitude for the doctor’s excellent work, the Elector granted him a license to operate the wine bar.

Almost immediately, a legend became associated with the Auerbachs Keller. A scholar named Dr. Johannes Faust, who had grown bored with life, made a pact with the Devil through the Horned One’s representative, Mephistopheles (aka Mephisto). The Devil agreed to give Dr. Faust access to unlimited knowledge and worldly pleasures—but only for the next 24 years (one year for every hour in the day). At the end of the contract term, the scholar would be required to hand over his soul to the Devil.

Faust riding out of the Auerbachs Keller
Credit: Deutsche Fotothek

To convince Dr. Faust of the plan’s merit, Mephisto invited him to an evening of revelry in the underground wine bar of the Auerbachs Keller. At the end of the night, the scholar rode up the stairs on the back of a barrel in a gravity-defying feat of devilish fun.

On the tavern’s 100^th anniversary in 1625, two paintings were mounted on the wall, one depicting Faust and Mephisto drinking with students and the other showing Faust riding the barrel.

By the 18^th century, the Auerbachs Keller had become a well established hangout for Leipzig University students, and one regular patron went on to become one of Germany’s leading literary figures: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Inspired by the legend during his student days—and perhaps after staring at the paintings of Faust and Mephisto through a wine-induced haze—Goethe later wrote a tragic play titled Faust. He set one scene in his old hangout, where Mephisto and Faust join a group of students in a night of drinking until the revelry turns violent. The Devil’s agent casts a spell on the students, who watch Faust riding out of the tavern on his legendary barrel.

Fasskeller of the Auerbachs Keller
Credit: Bundesarchiv,
Bild 183-1988-0908-307 / CC-BY-SA

Germany is a land of long traditions, so when I arrived in Leipzig over 200 years later, the Auerbachs Keller was still a popular student hangout. It had expanded to include five rooms, each with a distinctive name: Fasskeller (Barrel Cellar), Lutherzimmer (Luther Room), Goethezimmer (Goethe Room), Alt-Leipzig (Old Leipzig), and Großer Keller (Big Cellar). A sixth room, the Mephisto Bar, was added in 1989. There was even a tribute to Goethe’s version of the legend in the form of two bronze sculptures at the entrance, one of Mephisto and Faust and the other of the bewitched students.

My friends and I usually sipped our drinks in the Fasskeller, with its plain wooden tables and paintings of the Faust legend along the walls and ceilings. To my great disappointment, and likely good fortune, I never spotted Mephisto in the flesh. On occasion, however, I did order a glass of Tokaji, the topaz-colored wine from Hungary, which is mentioned in Goethe’s play. After all, when you live in a city so steeped in literary history, it doesn’t hurt to raise a glass to tradition.