When in Bucharest, do as the Romanians do and head out for a day of good food
In my four days in the city, I learned that Romanians value fresh ingredients and comfort food.
When visiting Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, one realises very quickly that the country is not just a treasure trove of history and diversity — its gastronomical roots and cultural traditions are just as deeply embedded, passed down from generation to generation for centuries.
Situated along the Silk Road, the major trade route between China and Europe, Uzbekistan is home to countless monuments of historical and architectural importance — from the Amir Timur Museum and Khast-Imam Complex to the Minor Mosque and Barak-Khan Madrasah. Beyond Tashkent, the historic cities of Samarkand, Bukhara, and Khiva are brimming with similar treasures.
As a Muslim, one of the great comforts of being in a Muslim-majority country is the assurance that everything you eat is halal. I had already listed four must-try dishes for my stay — somsa, pilaf, khanum, shashlik, and kazy — but the in-flight promotional video nudged me toward even more culinary adventures.
On my first morning in Tashkent, I headed to Chagatai, an old neighbourhood famous for its bread-making and surrounded by historic mosques and the Hazrati Imam Complex. The taxi driver dropped me in a narrow, bustling street with the reassuring words, “You can’t get lost here. Don’t worry, you’ll find your way around.” He was right.
The air was rich with the aroma of freshly baked bread, known locally as non or lepeshka. Every corner seemed to host a small bakery, their clay ovens turning out breads of all shapes and sizes. To my surprise, some vendors used baby carriages draped in embroidered white cloth as makeshift bread carts.
“There are two kinds of non: obi (plain) and patir (with sesame seeds),” explained a friendly local in the bakery queue. “In an Uzbek household, bread is not just food; it must look beautiful too.”
Watching the bread-making process was a treat. The dough, a mixture of milk, yeast, melted butter, salt, and sugar, is kneaded, shaped into flat rounds, and artfully decorated. A wooden stamp (chekich) creates intricate patterns, sesame seeds are sometimes sprinkled on top, and the bread is baked in a blazing tandoor. The baker, leaning halfway inside, presses the dough onto the hot clay wall before retrieving it with a metal tool.
Fresh from the oven, the bread is everything at once — hot, fluffy, chewy, and perfectly textured, with a crust far gentler than a French loaf. Traditionally eaten with kiamak (a dairy dip), honey, figs, or fruit, I paired mine with peaches from a nearby fruit cart, an experiment I’m unlikely to repeat.
No trip to Tashkent is complete without a visit to Chorsu Bazaar. Under its massive blue dome, meat vendors occupy the ground floor, dry fruit sellers the upper level, and the surrounding streets brim with pottery, ceramics, jewellery, fruit, and vegetables. Inside, butchers arrange their cuts in circular stalls like a maze — every part of the animal is for sale, from chops and tongues to brains and intestines.
Buying dry fruits here is an art form — the moment you pause, vendors lure you with almonds, raisins, and pistachios from beneath the counter. The prices start high but can be bargained down to a fraction.
Uzbek dry fruits are exceptional: almonds crack like crème brûlée, each shell revealing two nuts; pistachios are larger and saltier than their Pakistani counterparts. Leaving without at least four to five kilos of each would be a mistake.
Just a short walk from Chorsu lies the Shashlik Market, its alleyways smoky with the scent of grilled meats. I sampled lamb skewers, beef kebabs, and fried fish, though the famous horse meat sausage, kazy, tempted me too. The barbecue resembled Afghani kebabs but was less juicy. The fish, however, was meaty and flavourful.
The real star here was khanum, a steamed dumpling of potato and onion wrapped in soft dough, sold by a vendor with a cult following. Served with raw onions, dill, and green chillies, it was mild on its own but transformed into a perfect bite with a bit of heat and acidity.
At Boboy, a traditional café in Tashkent Mall, I finally tried somsa, flaky pastries filled with lamb or beef mince. My beef somsa, golden and crisp, delivered an explosion of flavours: cumin, black pepper, red pepper, and perfectly balanced seasoning.
With its thick, multi-layered crust and savoury filling, it was a crunchy, buttery delight, a far cry from the South Asian “samosa” it inspired centuries ago.
I saved my last day for Besh Qozon, a legendary pilaf restaurant drawing crowds from morning to midnight. Here, giant cauldrons — some the size of bathtubs — simmer over wood fires. The process is mesmerising: sunflower oil, meat, and carrots are layered with onions, garbanzo beans, berries, saffron, and rice, then steamed under metal plates.
I ordered the spicy pilaf with lamb, beef, and kazy, accompanied by quail eggs and dolma. Golden rice glistened with meat juices, carrots were tender and sweet, and each meat cut — from succulent lamb to salty horse sausage — brought its own character. Every spoonful was a rich medley of flavours and aromas.
My four days in Uzbekistan ended here, and with my final bite of pilaf, I could finally declare my mission accomplished.
Photos used in cover image courtesy Uzbek Embassy in Pakistan