All that goes into a Kyrgyz lasagna

Last time I was in Bishkek I was wandering through one of the international food stores I frequent and noticed a package of lasagna on one of the shelves. Foolishly, I purchased the lasagna noodles, knowing that it is impossible to get all the ingredients in Kyrgyzstan to build a proper lasagna. Perhaps I made this rash purchase because I have come to realize that if the likelihood of perfection is the prerequisite one must meet before starting any task, then nothing would ever happen in this world.

Finding a decent sauce was no issue. I purchased a jar of Italian Bolognese and augmented it with some garlic, onion, and mild fresh pepper. I also remembered I had a bit of red wine in my refrigerator: adding a little cabernet will rescue even the most ill-conceived red sauce.

The cheese was a more difficult issue as I have never seen Ricotta in Kyrgyzstan, the cheese that is the foundation of an authentic, southern Italian lasagna. I was forced to purchase Mascarpone, a variant of cream-cheese better suited for desserts like tiramisu. I also couldn't find mozzarella, another essential ingredient. I was saved by Bolot in the campus kitchen who happened to have a package of Buffalo Mozzarella that he gave me on the day of the lasagna baking, when I realized, in a slight panic, that I hadn't yet acquired the second essential lasagna cheese. Gift: it is an important ingredient of so much we do in life, including the making a Kyrgyz lasagna.

I could have gone full-Kyrgyz and browned up some lamb to serve as the meat, but my years living in Italy prevented me from committing such an act. The Bolognese sauce had a trace of meat, which would suffice. Luckily, I had found a package of fresh Kyrgyz mushrooms while in Bishkek that I could sauté in olive oil and thyme before adding to my lasagna to serve as a substitute.

What is as important as what goes into a lasagna is what is kept out. I remember, as a boy, at church potlucks consuming lasagnas loaded with cottage cheese. How sinful to add this abomination to lasagna, especially in a place where God is worshiped. Even He would tell you that if you are going to eat lasagna, you must not worry about fat content and calories, but instead should enjoy the dish in its intended, divine glory. Same with adding a cornucopia of vegetables: if you want to add zucchini and spinach, then you should make a quiche.

History, practice, intuition, love, care, experience--those intangibles are also crucial to making a Kyrgyz lasagna. Watching my mother make lasagnas when I was a child, lessons I have learned in Italian kitchens, the feel of stacking sheets of pasta upon each other and the art of assembling each and every layer, observing the lasagna bubbling in the oven and realizing when the surface gains exactly the right golden crispiness needed for the lasagna to be taken from the oven: these are the lessons that must be applied to deliver to the table something that can be savored.

Actually there is one last ingredient all lasagnas must contain, even a makeshift Kyrgyz version, to be enjoyed to their fullest. That, of course, is company to share it with. And I was blessed today to have the best of that ingredient. I was able to share my humble offering with a very dear friend who will be departing from this mountainous land in much too short a time. Thankfully, over lasagna, a creation first created centuries ago in Naples, we were able to consider our friendship, the past, the present, and what the future might have to offer. It is that final ingredient of fellowship and conviviality that all good food shares in common and that gives life a deeper, more-delicious meaning.