It strikes me that this preference is escapism in two ways. One is obvious: ingredients and flavors from a different land can transport the diner from the mundane here-and-now at least in one sensory modality. But there’s another, and less positive, aspect of this desire to sample cuisines from other lands. For those of us for whom food has become an important element of leisure life, there’s the danger that it can become our principal association with any region or country. . . .

"Have you been to Thailand?"

"No, but I love a well-made roast duck curry. And have you ever tried the seafood soufflé at The Royal Orchid? It’s not on the menu, but ask for it the next time you’re there!"

"Umm ... I will. Speaking of roast duck, have you ever been to Turkey?"

"Actually, yes; I spent over a year there. It’s a pity that there isn’t a good Turkish restaurant in town. I miss a good doner kebab or a plate of baklava, served warm at a pastahane."

Politics, ravages of war or natural disasters or disease, other facets of society and culture, can all be forgotten or ignored. The world’s so much richer, and poorer, than restaurant-as-simulacrum may suggest—a point that’s especially relevant given our choice of restaurant this week, Da Afghan.

Food and current affairs converge once in a while. I recall that many years ago at Da Afghan, its (then) owner held a feast in celebration of the Russian troop withdrawal from Afghanistan. My wife and I were frequent customers of the place then and we received an invitation in the mail to what turned out to be a memorable meal. Among other delicacies, they had a whole roasted goat on a table, stuffed with rice, carrots, raisins, and almonds—the rice dish is kabeli pullao, one of my favorite Afghani dishes then and now, but I had never seen it served this way.

The excitement and enthusiasm about the future prospects of the country that were on display them seem sad and perhaps naïve now. First Islamic fundamentalism and now the aftereffects of a war prosecuted with less than full commitment have made the situation go from bad to worse. One can hope for the future.

We both opted for the buffet, which was rather skimpy as buffets go: about a half-dozen dishes plus bread, rice, and a basic green salad. Dessert was absent from the offerings.

When fresh, which is how it used to be served at Da Afghan in the good old days, Afghani bread is excellent. Left on a buffet line, that freshness or quality is hard to maintain. Basic carbs can also be consumed via two varieties of rice, both made with basmati. One’s plain white rice; the other is kabeli pullao, here made with chicken.

Also on the buffet were a "tandoori" chicken but in a tangy sauce; peppery kofta kebab (cigar-shaped meatballs) in sauce; a daal (yellow lentils); and lightly spiced sautéed vegetables. Afghani specialties in general feature spices that aren’t as hot as most Indian or Pakistani food but tend to be slightly sweet and fragrant. Buffet table dryness—that bane of restaurant lunches—afflicted several of the dishes including the pullao and the kofta.

Wine and beer are available, as also are a few kinds of chai and other beverages. I had a black tea which came slightly presweetened and with cardamom seeds. It was refreshing.

We ordered dessert separately from the buffet. I had the baklava, which arrived as a cylinder of wrapped phyllo with not much filling and grated pistachio as a garnish. It was served warmed, a point in its favor.

The interior of Da Afghan hasn’t changed in quite some time, but it’s been maintained well and retains its visual appeal. Oriental (probably Afghani) carpets are displayed on walls and under glass on the dining tables; white latticework covers the ceiling and some walls; drapes, articles of native clothing, and other artifacts provide additional decoration. The whole effect is attractive and intimate, and more than offsets the negative vibes you’ll get from the restaurant’s setting in its semi-industrial location. In the entryway framed clippings and photocopies give some background on the owner and the restaurant. In its heyday, now well past, Donald Trump was once a customer. Now there’s someone whose popularity and appeal continue to defy the passage of time.

The entire train of thought was setoff by the Indian film music soundtrack in an Afghani restaurant, which made me think that I had heard similar music in a Nepali and a Pakistani restaurant. It would be interesting to introduce a heavily bearded, big-boned fellow (looking not unlike Jesus on steroids) who’s currently living on the run taking pot shots at American troops to his peaceful, albeit emaciated, cousin from the south: "Mr. Gandhi thinks you’re sons of the same soil." How far would that conversation go? If there were any quibbling I would point out the similarity in their taste for Indian film songs and as a last resort point out that the food was pretty similar too. Yes, yes there’s more meat as you go north and more spices as you go south but the culinary relationship is a well-established one.

Da Afghan is the second oldest Afghan restaurant in the Twin Cities; the first one, Caravan Serai, like desert nomads of old, has folded it’s tent for greener pastures elsewhere. This restaurant—plaques on the walls inform us—is owned by a former minister of Agriculture in a previous Afghan government. The mischievous amongst us, and those that have trekked across the dusty, barren plains of Afghanistan will find the portfolio of the Minister of Agriculture (in Afghanistan) being akin to an Afghan Admiral of the Fleet (email me if you don’t get this joke).

The restaurant is in a small square building with more room than what appears proportionate allocated to a kitchen area. The walls are decorated with Afghan dresses and small rugs. Even the tabletops have small rugs that look suspiciously like what the British called ‘durrees’. The booths are equipped with comfortable leather upholstered settees.

Da Afghan sits seeped in darkness as the lunchtime crowd helped itself to the all-you-can-eat buffet. I ordered an Afghan tea (black tea with generous amounts of milk, sugar and spiced with cardamom), which was strong and sweet, a perfect antidote to shock or trauma. The buffet, it appears, is the only game in town at lunchtime and we joined the eager queue. The buffet is fairly limited in scope: Kabuli Pilao (saffron rice with stewed meat), dahl (yellow lentils – not as spicy as you might expect at an Indian restaurant), chicken tikha, kebab (cigar shaped ground beef/lamb), and an assorted vegetable dish. All this is served with what people on the Pakistan side of the border refer to as Peshawari nans (flat bread). The food is tasty if somewhat greasy and if you have a meat fetish this is definitely the place to go.

Surprisingly the lunch buffet doesn’t include dessert and we had to order them from the menu. A had the baklava (you wouldn’t think Afghanistan would have any but you would be wrong as I was) and I chose the rice pudding. The baklava was richly sweet if a little wet for my taste, the rice pudding was an abomination that I dismissed after one taste.

Who says immigrants don’t meld in? Da Afghan proudly recognizes its Minnesotan reality by offering Laila’s Walleye. What would poor Majnu make of that I wonder!

Misc. Notes: dined at La Belle Vie this week. The food was good as ever but the first bottle of wine we chose was corked and the service terrible. It seems like they were short staffed. When leaving the manager asked us if we had enjoyed ourselves and I remonstrated (politely) about the service. The manager said that he would "put it right" and went off to look at our bill. He came back and shook my hand and said, "Thanks for coming". No adjustment to the bill. I am sure the expensive bottle of wine returned as corked swayed his decision!