Connected by Biryani

Tonight some of our student life staff and Pakistani students made chicken biryani and a sweet carrot dish, the name of which was told to me several times, but as yet the name has not left a lasting imprint on my brain.

Each of our senses brings us pleasure, but perhaps no sense brings us greater joy on a daily basis than the sense of taste.

Taste is intricately tied to that which means much to us. What we taste can take us home more quickly than the fastest jet. Taste is celebration and it is memory. It can serve as a connection to people we love. It is ceremony and it is much of what sustains us. It is life itself.

I only had chicken biryani a few times in my life before I moved to Kyrgyzstan--it had been a dish with no more meaning than butterscotch pudding or kale salad or countless other dishes of no consequence to me. But since I've been here, I've eaten biryani several times. Each time I've had biryani here it has been made by people who I've shared my life with in this isolated place. Not only have the biryanis been delicious, but they also have been crafted with love and care. For those with whom I've shared biryani it's been remembrance of a faraway life and a link to what's held dear. For me, biryani has become special too as it will always remind me of a time and place and will, from now on, serve as a point of connection to people I've come to care about.

Rice. Chicken. Spice. That is the core of what biryani is. Yet, in my life now, it has become so much more.