Xinjiang Food

It's a little known fact in Islamic history that when the Archangel Gabrielle gave Mohammad the words to the Koran he also gave him some killer recipes. It was pretty lonely up on that desert mountain and Mo was always, always hungry. During breaks between holy scripture sessions Gabrielle would light a cigarette, the mood would relax, and he'd start passing off recipes to his Arabian friend.

"When you get back to Mecca, try taking about a three pound big chunk of dough, chip it and then steam it for five minutes, then...."

Mo, though extremely tired from writing out the Qur'an almost every waking hour, would hurriedly jot down the recipes. He knew there was a wisdom and beauty in them that would pacify men's hearts for generations to come.

More would come everyday, "k... now get some mutton and put it on a sharp wooden stick and grill it with some of that pepper sauce I told you about on Wednesday."

After many cold nights and wretched hot days up on that sacred mountain, it was time to go back and spread the message. Gabe said, "got everything, man?"

"Yeah, yeah... blanket, clothes, rice, and food that will make the world smile," Mo shot back with a grin and a rucksack slung over his back.

"What? Where's the Qur'an?"

"That manifesto you've been having me write? Ohhhh, that... it's good stuff, Gabe, but I just don't see a market for it... and I think these dishes will civilize the hearts of men. It is the seventh century, and ya know... not a lot of my fellow Arabs can, you know, read."

The Archangel Gabrielle unleashed his fury. Mohamed understood. The recipes were great, but the book was more important.

Mo did a good job. He founded the religion Gabe wanted him too and he spread the recipes to new converts while taking hookah breaks from battle, "... now take the beef - and remember, NO PORK! - and marinate it in some..."

Millenia later, thousands of miles away from the holy lands, Muslims found themselves in China. They set up small resteraunts with the charm of a hometown diner in Kansas and serve noodles that could unite all men under the green banner of Islam if only the Archangel had allowed him to push those noodles and kababs instead of the book.

The point of this little thing is that I moved apartments today. I'm back in Sino-Heaven. Though the Tianjin-style kababs are still ellusive, there are Pakistani men selling sheep kababs and little noodle shops dotting the streets. I spent an hour getting lost walking transfixed through all the markets yesterday. I love it.

And thank you, Angel Gabe, for those killer recipes you gave Mo outside Mecca so many years ago.



I made sure Betsy had some Muslim noodles before she goes home Monday. The soup on the right is incredible [as you can tell by the empty dish closest to the camera operator], as is the little pickled salad dish.



Tags: Treyopia Shenzhen China Islam food culture Muslim