I'm looking through you....ikra.

This morning I sat down and enjoyed a bowl of ikra for breakfast. (or stood by the microwave and devoured it, same diff) Ikra means "caviar" in Russian, but this is actually a spread made from eggplant and other vegetables. I learned how to make it from my first neighbor/slum lord in Tashkent. Standing here, eating that, it was amazing how I found myself transported back to that first year in Tashkent, (ikra = time machine in a bowl?)

We had been living in a 1 bedroom student apartment (which translates into unfurnishedexceptforTVthatonlyplaysUzbekculturaldancingalldaylong) in Tashkent with DH's cousin for a couple of months upon arrival, waiting for DH to get a job placement. It was an age of innocence. I was enjoying the adventure, and very sheltered from the realities of life in Uzbekistan, fresh off the boat (plane, whatever, you know what I mean) When we found our first apartment, our very own, I didn't care or even notice that we were paying $25 a month for a place that should have been condemned. (Literally, since as we later found out the building had been built upon an old landfill and was unstable) That $25 rent was more than DH's salary at the time, but I also had some small income coming in from teaching.

Our bedroom contained a twin bed and an armoire and was so small that we could only open the door of the armoire half way before it intersected with the bed and wouldn't open further. Our nights consisted of sleeping back to back, trying not to push the other person onto the floor. Our kitchen had no cabinets or counters, but a big old desk worked as an improvised counter top/workspace, and we also had a little 2 burner camp stove. When we moved in, the whole place was covered in what I was told later was roach feces. Ah, yes, but it was home, and ours. We were proud.

Tytya "Aunt" Alla was our landlady and next door neighbor. She was a middle-aged, unmarried woman; an ethnic Korean whose family was deported to Uzbekistan during the time of Stalin. She was God-sent to me. After DH started his job, he was kept out till 9 or 10 most evenings. I knew little language and very few people in Tashkent. I can't remember now how I spent my time, I had already started teaching at that time, but it was part-time. I had also by then discovered an English library which I considered a gift from on high. But, in moments of loneliness, Tytya Alla was always there and ready to talk (and talk and talk and talk), the only thing I had to do was nod occassionally and say "da", which was good because my Russian at that time was only good enough to say "Where is toilet?" and "How much? Give 1 kilo please"

Koreans in Uzbekistan are known for their salads and canning abilities, and so it was from Tytya Alla that I learned to make ikra and DH learned to can homemade pickles, for which he is now famous throughout Central Asia. The paper on which the recipe is written is speckled with oil, crumpled and dirty, but a treasured possession. Here for posterity I'll share it with you!

Ikra:
salt
carrots 1 lb
onion 2 BIG ones
eggplant 3 lbs or 2 big ones
cilantro if desired
garlic 4 or 5 pieces
oil 1 1/2 cups
tomato 1/2 lb
red bell pepper 2 pieces
jalapeno 2 or 3

Cut everything up into small to medium sized cubes. Heat the oil in a heavy pot like a dutch oven and fry the onions till brown. (About 15 minutes)

Add the carrots and salt to taste and fry for about 7 minutes.

Add the tomatoes, bell pepper, and eggplant, stirring occasionally and left uncovered. You can also add the jalapeno, garlic, and cilantro if using at this time. Keep the flame up at medium. Allow to cook for at least 45 minutes.

The finished product is usually canned, but you can also eat it right away. Yum!