Uzbekistan Eats: Somsas and So Much More

Suitcases propped against a counter in the vaulted departure hall at Tashkent train station, Bama and I wolfed down our own triangular somsas in a paper bag, biting through layers of thin, flaky pastry to get to the fragrant beef and onion filling. This humble breakfast on the go would herald the start of a culinary adventure through Uzbekistan — 14 days spent hopping between the ancient Silk Road cities of Bukhara, Khiva, and Samarkand, along with Tashkent, the country’s modern capital. After years of dreaming about such a trip, we were ecstatic to finally be in Central Asia.

Over the next two weeks, we saw how the food of Uzbekistan reflects its geographical location at the crossroads between Europe, Persia, China, and India. Not once did we get bored of the local fare, be it bread baked in a vertical clay oven called a tandyr (or tandoor); manti, steamed dumplings brought across the steppes by nomadic Mongol- and Turkic-speaking peoples; succulent shashlik (kebabs); or lagman, derived from the Uighur rendition of ancient Chinese pulled noodles. Most dishes are enriched by spices and herbs traded along the Silk Road — dried barberries and saffron from Persia, turmeric and cumin, asafetida that grows wild in the desert. Russian colonization and Soviet rule brought new ingredients like potatoes, and popularized the mayo-drenched Olivier salad.

Before continuing, I must disclose for the benefit of any vegan and vegetarian readers that Uzbekistani food is undeniably meat-centric. But non-carnivorous travelers will find more options in the more tourist-oriented restaurants. Dumplings and somsas have various fillings, some of them plant-based. A classic accompaniment to any main course is achichuk, a simple tomato-and-cucumber salad with white onion that we enjoyed practically every day, chiefly because Central Asian tomatoes pack in a lot more flavor than the watery, bland ones we tend to get in Jakarta. Then there’s the luscious local fruit: peaches, apricots, pomegranates, and more. Botanists believe Central Asia is where apples first originated. Naturally, we had to try golden apples two ways: in their original form and freshly squeezed into a frothy, full-bodied juice. Bama’s prior research suggested the melons of this region were historically prized, so he was over the moon when we tasted watermelon and two kinds of white melon at a Samarkand restaurant. All three were noticeably sweeter than their Indonesian-grown counterparts.

Freshly baked somsas in a street-side oven in Samarkand

We sometimes bought these flaky pastries for breakfast

Samarkand’s traditional non bread; a bowl of lagman at Shokhrukh Nur

Our favorite kind of plov (Samarkand style) with a glass of homemade peach juice

Shashlik of lamb loin, lamb tail fat, and beef rolls at Shokhrukh Nur

A spread of shurpa, manti, achichuk, and lagman at the same restaurant

Uzbekistan’s penchant for both rice and bread makes perfect sense given the region’s harsh winters. The national dish, plov (also known locally as osh) is a delicious rice pilaf that usually incorporates mutton or beef, as well as carrots, raisins or sultanas, and sometimes chickpeas. Each city and region of the country has its own variation; Bama and I agree that our favorite was the layered Samarkand-style plov at the small eatery attached to the family-run hotel where we stayed for three nights. (This particular plov is the one in the opening shot).

Samarkand as a whole proved to be a mouthwatering introduction to Uzbekistani cuisine. We sought out the city’s legendary non bread (more on that in a future post), and had our fill of local staples at Shokhrukh Nur, just a few doors down from the hotel. There was excellent lagman in an aromatic, herb-rich broth featuring red and yellow bell pepper; you could tell the noodles were hand-pulled from their suppleness and smooth yet springy texture. Served with sour cream and a piquant red dressing, the plump, meaty manti were wrapped in a thin and delightfully chewy skin of dough. I loved Shokhrukh Nur’s version of Uzbek shurpa — a slow-cooked meat and vegetable soup. Beneath floating pearls of fat lay tender beef pieces, chunky red carrot and potato, and chickpeas. Sprinkled with dill and coriander, it struck me as a comforting bowl of goodness, like a warm hug on a cold winter’s day. None of the subsequent shurpas I had in Uzbekistan could match its flavor.

Of course, the real reason so many residents and tourists flock to Shokhrukh Nur is to indulge in superb shashlik barbecued on a mangal grill. We chose lamb loin with a whole tomato, beef rolls, and lamb tail fat, which was candidly described on the menu as “lamb buttock.” A full-day food tour of Beirut in the spring of 2019 had acquainted us with its rich taste, so we were keen to savor this guilty pleasure once more. The twentysomething waiter double-checked our order with a touch of concern. “It’s all fat. Are you sure?” Our reply was a clear and unequivocal “yes.” Bama and I ended up returning the same evening for Samarkand-style minced beef kebabs, shaped into patties resembling an American football, alongside separate skewers of lamb tenderloin and grilled vegetables (eggplant, bell peppers, juicy tomato).

After that first somsa in Tashkent, the ubiquitous pastry became our go-to morning snack on most days. At a small barebones eatery on the busy avenue running past the Registan — Samarkand’s most famous historic site — we couldn’t resist buying several from the young baker manning the street-side oven. The buttery, crispy crust with paper-thin layers concealed spiced beef, potato, or pumpkin. Our preferred somsa was the pumpkin one for its symphony of sweet and savory flavors that tickled the palate.

Clove, cardamom, and other spices on display at Bukhara’s Silk Road Tea House

Teatime in Bukhara; the shaded courtyard at Joy Chaikhana & Lounge

The plov at Joy must be prebooked at least two hours in advance

Pumpkin-stuffed kadu barak and a plate of chakka (traditional yogurt)

A dimlama stew of pike perch fillet with tomato and onion, also at Joy

Samsushka’s delicious homemade chuchvara

But it was in Bukhara where we enjoyed the tastiest, flakiest somsas of our trip, baked in a tandyr right outside a humble standalone diner across the street from the Central Bazaar. Run by a sweet older couple, Samsushka catered to a largely local clientele, though enough foreign visitors had passed through to rack up more than 100 reviews (plus an impressive 5.0 rating) on Google Maps. We dined here three nights in a row, and managed to sample three of their four somsa varieties: beef and chicken and pumpkin. Potato, alas, had always sold out by the time we got there.

Aside from an addictive tomato chili sauce paired with the somsas, the small kitchen at Samsushka plated up classics like plov and lagman; the latter featured minced beef, a fried egg, and soft chicken sausage. (Samsushka’s take on achichuk had an unexpected kick, being laced with potent red chili.) One night, Bama and I shared a large plate of homemade chuchvara — meat-stuffed dumplings akin to tortellini that are boiled in broth — and an even bigger bowl of shurpa with lamb ribs. Our drink of choice each time was hot green tea infused with lemon, more fragrant and delicate than any lemon tea we’d ever come across.

Uzbekistan has a strong tea-drinking culture, which explains the proliferation of chaikhana or choyxona (literally “tea room”) across the country. These traditional hangouts served as places for exchanging news and gossip, and they also offered welcome refreshment for traveling merchants. Just off a pedestrianized shopping street in Bukhara’s Old City, Silk Road Tea House was our chosen spot for nibbling on sweets, raisins, and walnuts while sipping on two kinds of tea: saffron with cardamom and then a nourishing blend of herbs and spices. The latter had an uncanny resemblance to the herbal brews offered after a treatment at five-star hotel spas in Southeast Asia.

Our next destination was a short walk from the teahouse. Bama had learned of Joy Chaikhana & Lounge through a Euronews documentary posted on YouTube not long before the trip, but we soon discovered the restaurant was booked solid at lunchtime. Luckily, our schedule was flexible and they could still fit us in at 1 p.m. the next day. (We also made sure to pre-order two portions of plov.) The receptionist spoke into her phone and got the message across via Google Translate. “Your table has been reserved for tomorrow. Please, no delays.”

One of the perks of traveling with Bama is his punctuality. We showed up five minutes early and were promptly shown to the flagstone-paved courtyard, where we were seated at a traditional wooden divan called a tapchan with a raised table at the center. Three floors above our heads, the rays of the midday sun filtered through a thin canopy. Joy’s plov was not quite as tasty or complex in flavor as the one we ate in Samarkand, but other dishes left a deeper impression. Chakka, explained on the menu as “Bukhara fermented milk product”, turned out to be thick yogurt garnished with peas. The unexpected highlights were kadu barak, ravioli-like dumplings filled with shredded pumpkin that still retained a bit of a crunch; and the lightly-spiced dimlama stew of pike perch fillet, tomato, and onion.

The food began to look a bit different out west in the Khorezm region. About three hours after leaving Bukhara, our driver pulled over at a rest stop along the highway running straight through the Kyzyl Kum desert for a tea break. Its half-empty restaurant was where we had our first taste of Khorezm cuisine: supersized boiled egg dumplings called tukhum barak served with yogurt sauce. In Itchan Kala, Khiva’s walled old town, Bama and I sought out the local specialty shivit oshi featuring noodles made of dill-infused dough. The one served in a quiet, sky-lit eatery beneath the courtyard of a madrasa was decent enough, but we came across a much tastier version at Terrassa Café & Restaurant, which quickly became our go-to spot for lunch and dinner. One night, we chuckled when a local guide recast the dish as “spaghetti verde” to the group of boisterous older Italians under her care. It would be more accurate to say the flatter, slightly thicker noodles are somewhere on the spectrum between linguine and fettucine.

Ali Nazik (eggplant and yogurt purée with meat) at Khiva’s Terrassa Café & Restaurant

Beetroot salad with walnut and diced carrot, potato, cucumber, and apples

A platter of mixed Khorezm-style boiled dumplings with yogurt sauce

Some tables at Terrassa look out at the unfinished Kalta Minor Minaret

Shivit oshi, a Khiva specialty, features noodles infused with fresh dill

Bama and I loved Terrassa’s gumma (fried half-moon stuffed pastries)

Khiva-style plov with dried apricot — our second-favorite version of the dish

Chalpak (thin tortilla-like flatbread) stuffed with meat

The way shivit oshi is served at Terrassa is a something of a spectacle. First, the constituent parts of the dish arrive at the table on a sizeable wooden platter. The waiter swaddles the vivid green noodles in baking paper, before adding a small bowl of oil with finely chopped parsley, pinching the edges of the wrapping closed, and shaking it well. Then the herb oil–coated dill noodles are carefully deposited on the serving plate with sour cream on the side. As a final touch, thick tomato stew with beef and potato is poured over the top from a clay bowl. The combination of noodles, sour cream, and stewed meat tastes as heavenly as it sounds.

Terrassa also wowed us with its knockout Khiva-style plov, second only to the one we’d enjoyed so much in Samarkand. What made this version unique was the addition of dried apricot in the fluffy rice. “It reminds me a little of Central Javanese food,” Bama remarked after a few spoonfuls. I could see why its sweet-savory flavor profile brought to mind the cuisine of his home province. Another dish that piqued our interest was Ali Nazik, a grilled eggplant and yogurt purée with pieces of beef kebab in an orange-hued sauce. (Strangely, all the online sources I looked at identified it not with Uzbekistan, but Turkey’s southeastern Gaziantep Province.) The only letdown was the Khorezm boiled dumplings with a variety of fillings — spinach, two kinds of cheese, egg, and pumpkin. They tasted bland in comparison to everything else, even when slathered in yogurt sauce.

But the minced beef-and-onion gumma, or fried half-moon pastries akin to empanadas, were superb. We took turns drizzling a tangy tomato, pepper, and dill sauce over the piping-hot stuffing of these prodigious crispy-skinned turnovers. Heartiest of all was Terrassa’s rendition of chalpak, described on the menu as “fried tortillas”. That isn’t too far off: imagine thin flatbread stuffed with pumpkin or beef and onion, piled atop one another and cut into wedges. Balancing out all the meat and carb was a small bowl of pickled carrots and ramekins containing runny tomato sauce and finely diced bell pepper and cucumber tossed with herbs.

Without resorting to domestic flights, getting from Khiva to Tashkent takes a certain degree of commitment. Our own overland journey began with an 11-hour drive to Bukhara — including a long detour to visit several ancient desert fortresses — followed by a seven-hour train ride that started before dawn the next morning. In a serendipitous move, we’d unknowingly booked a hotel just three minutes’ walk from the best Khorezm restaurant in the capital. At “Qamish” Xorazm Taomlari, the Uzbek- and Russian-speaking waitstaff handed us an iPad menu. We were immensely fortunate that there was an English-language setting and pictures illustrating each item. Bama and I relished our first proper meal in two days, devouring plates of shivit oshi, pumpkin-stuffed gumma, and Khiva ijjan, a mystery cold appetizer that turned out to be local steak tartare with plenty of grated onions. The latter was especially delicious spread over thick Khorezm flatbread.

At the start of our trip, we were skeptical of eating the local fish given Uzbekistan’s status as one of only two doubly landlocked countries in the world (the other is Liechtenstein). How silly we were to even think that. Though barbecued fish from the mighty Amu Darya — the Oxus River of antiquity — is a specialty of the region around Khiva, it wasn’t until our lunch at Qamish that we encountered sazan na uglyakh: Russian for “carp over charcoal”. Rubbed with salt, paprika, and lemon juice, the fatty, juicy slabs of grilled fish with deliciously charred skin blew us away. Never mind the number of small bones — I don’t recall ever having a carp dish this sublime.

Another thing that leapt out on Qamish’s iPad menu was sea buckthorn tea, brewed with the pulp of the bush’s astringent, bright orange berries. Its sour-sweet and almost citrusy taste was completely new for both of us. That afternoon, we tucked into our late and leisurely Sunday lunch to a not-so-exotic playlist featuring Dua Lipa, J. Lo, and Whitney Houston. Uzbekistanis seem to be fans of Latin pop; it was the third time we heard the Enrique Iglesias hit Bailando after earlier brushes with the song at local eateries in Samarkand and then Bukhara.

Khorezm flatbread at “Qamish” Xorazm Taomlari in Tashkent

Khiva ijjan is a delicious onion-forward steak tartare

One of the most memorable dishes we had was Khorezm carp barbecued over charcoal

Like a meatier counterpart to risotto, moshkichiri tastes far better than it looks

A bowl of yogurt-dressed Chiroqchi salad

Slices of boiled quince — something we never see in Indonesia

The next day, lunch beckoned at the Former Plov Center, a no-frills affair about 20 minutes on foot from Bodomzor metro station. I was most interested in trying the soupy rice dish mastava, which has been described as “liquid plov”. Indeed, it uses many of the same ingredients and spices, but is served in a clear reddish broth topped with dill, coriander, and usually a dollop of sour cream. Warm and rich in flavor, mastava was just what we needed on this cold, rainy day. Bama and I also shared some naryn — smooth slivers of fresh dough combined with equally thin pieces of horsemeat and a thick and salty slice of qazi (local horsemeat sausage).

Some internet sleuthing that same afternoon gave us the name of another local specialty worth tracking down. We braved the Tashkent metro at rush hour to reach the Drujba branch of Komolon Osh Markazi, where I was 100% certain it was on the menu. Moshkichiri may not win any points for presentation, but the risotto-esque dish is pure comfort food: think mung bean and rice cooked down into a thick paste with onions and spices and shredded meat, presumably beef. (Given its name and other strong similarities, perhaps there is a historic connection with the vegetarian South Asian khichdi.) We also ordered quince slices and Chiroqchi salad, comprising tomato, cucumber, and fresh red onion slathered in a salt-speckled yogurt sauce.

The night we left Uzbekistan, our hotel arranged an airport taxi through the Yandex app, and the friendly middle-aged driver attempted to strike up a conversation despite the clear language barrier. He understood that we’d come to Tashkent after traveling to Samarkand, Bukhara, and Khiva. While at a stoplight, the driver began listing the names of local dishes, osh (plov) and manti among them, to see which ones we had eaten. I continued his train of thought: “Naryn, mastava, moshkichiri.” His wide-eyed response could not have been more enthusiastic. “Moshkichiri!” Then he brought up a meat-heavy Central Asian dish with nomadic roots. “Beshbarmak?” We’d briefly considered ordering that the previous night, but knew it would be far too much with the mochkichiri. “Yo’q,” Bama volunteered, saying the Uzbek word for “no”. Upon hearing this, the driver threw both hands in the air and jokingly let out a sigh, feigning disappointment.

The cramped main terminal at Tashkent International Airport didn’t have much in the way of dining options. One was a snack stall named Pie Republic that stood near the gate for our red-eye flight back to Jakarta. Ironically, there were no pies, but a selection of grossly overpriced sandwiches. I thought back to the seven-hour train ride from Bukhara to Tashkent, when an attendant walked through the carriages early that morning, holding a tray piled with still-steaming somsas. “Imagine if there were somsas on the plane,” I said wishfully to Bama.

Uzbekistan Airways offers an impressive amount of food in economy class — more than any other airline I’ve flown with — and it was no different for our unexpected post-midnight meal. Bama turned to me with a grin after inspecting the contents of his large plastic clamshell container. “Your wish came true.” Sure enough, hidden under sauce packets and a small bag of salted peanuts lay a surprise somsa. The pointed-top pastry was cold but still wonderfully flaky, and I relished its layered crust and delicious meat filling. It felt like a farewell gift as we soared high above the snowcapped peaks of the Hindu Kush. ◊

Freshly squeezed apple juice in Khiva; mastava at Tashkent’s Former Plov Center

Naryn typically comes with a thick slice of horsemeat sausage (qazi)

A delicious plov with quail’s egg and qazi at Tashkent’s Former Plov Center

Achichuk at Samsushka in Bukhara; “Qamish” Xorazm Taomlari’s sea buckthorn tea

Samsushka served the tastiest and flakiest somsas of our trip