Плов
Rice steamed over lamb, carrot and cumin in a heavy pot, left unstirred so the grains stay separate.
Rinse the rice in a bowl of cold water, pouring the cloudy water off and refilling, until the water runs almost clear after five or six changes.
That rinsing takes off the loose surface starch, which is the thing that glues grains together into a mass.
Cover the rinsed rice with warm water and leave it to soak for 30-60 minutes, then drain it just before you need it.
Set a kazan or a heavy wide casserole over high heat.
Render the diced tail fat for 8-10 minutes, until the pieces have shrunk to golden scraps, then lift them out; if you are using oil instead, heat it until it shimmers.
Brown the lamb in two batches for 4-5 minutes a batch, until deep brown on at least two sides.
Do not crowd the pan. Meat packed in drops the temperature, releases its liquid and greys in it instead of browning, and the colour on the meat is where the dark tone of the finished dish comes from.
Return all the meat to the pot and add the onions.
Cook for 8-10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the onions have collapsed and browned at the edges.
Add the carrots and cook for 8-10 minutes, turning them only two or three times, until they have softened and coloured.
Cut the carrot into batons by hand rather than grating it. Grated carrot dissolves into the liquid within twenty minutes and leaves the rice orange and the dish without its texture.
Stir in the cumin seeds, crushed coriander seeds, barberries, dried chillies and salt.
Pour in 700ml of the boiling water, which should just cover everything.
Push the two whole heads of garlic down into the liquid.
Simmer uncovered for 40-50 minutes, until the lamb gives easily under a fork and the liquid has reduced to a dark red-brown broth about 2cm deep.
Taste this zirvak and season it a shade saltier than seems right. It is the only seasoning the rice will get, and 700g of unsalted rice is about to go on top of it.
Level the surface of the zirvak with the back of a spoon.
Spread the drained rice over it in an even layer, and do not stir it in.
From here the pot is two layers, not one. Rice stirred down into the zirvak swells in the fat and liquid and turns to a wet risotto; left sitting on top, it steams above the meat and stays separate.
Pour the remaining boiling water gently over the back of a spoon until it stands about 1.5cm above the rice.
Boil hard, uncovered, for 15-20 minutes, until the surface water has gone and small craters open across the rice.
Gather the rice into a low dome with a spoon and poke five or six holes down through it to the base with the handle, which lets trapped steam out and stops the bottom stewing.
Turn the heat as low as it goes, wrap the lid in a clean tea towel and clamp it on.
Steam for 20-25 minutes, without lifting the lid, until the grains are tender to the tooth with no chalk in the middle.
Take the pot off the heat and leave it covered for 10-15 minutes.
Lift out the garlic heads and the chillies and set them aside.
Turn the rice and zirvak over together with a wide spoon and pile it onto a warm platter.
Sit the meat and the whole garlic heads on top, for people to squeeze the soft cloves out themselves.
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Lamb fat is the base note of every mouthful, and that is not a criticism — the rice has steamed above the meat rather than beside it, so the fat and the broth have come up through it as vapour and the grains taste of the pot rather than of rice. Cumin is the loudest spice by some distance and it is warm and slightly bitter rather than hot. The carrots are properly sweet and there are 700g of them, which is what balances the fat. Barberries give sudden, sharp sour points that reset the mouth. The whole dried chillies contribute a low background warmth and no real heat. The garlic, an hour in the broth, is sweet and mild and completely unlike raw garlic.
Cumin first, and from a long way off — a pot of plov scents a whole building. Under it, rendered lamb fat, which is a heavier and more particular smell than beef or chicken fat, and sweet browned onion. When the lid comes off after the steam the smell that comes up is different again: less spice, more rice and hot fat, with the garlic suddenly obvious.
Separate, distinct grains that fall apart under a spoon rather than clumping, with a slight chew left in them. Against that, three softer things: carrot that has gone yielding but is still recognisably a baton, lamb that collapses under a fork, and garlic cloves that squeeze out as paste. The barberries are the only chewy element and they are deliberately small and few.
The loudest part is the beginning — fat rendering hard and lamb browning in two batches. The zirvak simmers quietly for the better part of an hour. Then a hard rolling boil for the rice, which is the last real noise, and after the lid goes on the pot is completely silent for twenty-five minutes, which is the point at which most cooks are tempted to open it.
Fat and cumin arrive together and immediately. The carrot's sweetness fills the middle of the mouthful and is the thing that keeps it from being heavy. Then, unpredictably, a barberry lands sour and sharp and resets everything. The finish is savoury lamb and a faint warmth from the chillies at the back of the throat. Every few mouthfuls a piece of soft garlic changes the balance entirely for one bite.
Very hot from a heavy pot that has been sealed for half an hour, and it holds that heat on a platter far longer than the same volume of anything wetter would. The fat is what carries the heat, and a plate of plov is still warm well after a plate of plain rice would be cold.
Salted or pickled cucumbers, a sharp raw onion and tomato salad, flatbread, and green tea — everything traditionally served with it is there to cut the fat. Kvass is the other drink it turns up beside in Russia.
Not difficult in any single step, and demanding in sequence — the pot is built in layers over three hours and each stage has to be right before the next goes on top of it.
Moderate. Lamb shoulder is the cost; 700g of rice and 700g of carrots are not.
A kazan or a heavy wide casserole with a well-fitting lid, and a clean tea towel to wrap the lid in for the final steam.
A weekend, a gathering, or anything with enough people at the table to justify three and a half hours.
None. Every ingredient stores.
The zirvak is ready when the liquid has reduced to a dark red-brown broth about 2cm deep and the carrot has gone translucent. The rice stage is ready to cover when the surface water has disappeared and small craters have opened across the top. The finished platter should be a heap of separate amber grains, glossed rather than wet, with the carrot still visible as batons rather than dissolved into colour.
Grains tender to the tooth with no chalk left in the middle and no stickiness between them. The lamb should give completely under a fork, the carrot should hold its shape but offer no resistance, and the garlic cloves should squeeze out of their skins as a soft paste.
Nothing unusual during cooking. Cooked rice is the classic vehicle for Bacillus cereus if it is left standing warm, so leftovers want cooling fast and refrigerating rather than sitting in the pot on the hob.
Wet and claggy: the rice was stirred in, or too much water went over it. Chalky in the middle: it needed longer under the lid, or the lid was lifted. Bland: the zirvak was seasoned to taste rather than a shade past it. Catching at the base: the holes were not poked through the dome, so trapped steam had nowhere to go and the bottom stewed. Dish gone orange with no texture: the carrot was grated.
The zirvak can be made a day ahead and refrigerated, which is genuinely useful — it reheats to a simmer and the rice goes on from there. The finished dish is best on the day.
Keeps 3 days refrigerated, cooled quickly in a shallow container rather than left in the pot.
Covered, over low heat with a splash of water, or steamed. Reheat rice once only.
Freezes acceptably for a month, though the grains soften on thawing and never come back fully separate.
Good reheated as it is, and better with a sharp salted cucumber alongside to cut the fat.
Scales up more happily than almost anything else in this collection, which is why it is cauldron food. The constraint is the width of the pot: the rice needs to sit in an even layer over the zirvak, so a wider pot is always better than a deeper one.
Devzira, a red-tinged rice from the Fergana valley, is the traditional grain: it drinks more water than basmati and holds its shape better. Basmati is a workable stand-in with slightly less water. Lamb tail fat is what it is properly made with and gives a flavour sunflower oil does not; 100ml of oil is the substitute the recipe is written to accommodate. Beef is used in some households, though it wants longer in the zirvak.
Free of all fourteen declarable allergens as written. Not vegetarian in any meaningful sense — the fat and the zirvak are the dish. Naturally gluten free, dairy free, egg free and nut free.
Devzira rice from a Central Asian or Russian grocer if you can get it, and lamb tail fat from the same place — both change the dish more than any technique adjustment would. Barberries are sold dried in Middle Eastern and Central Asian shops and keep indefinitely.
Lamb shoulder is one of the cheaper lamb cuts and this stretches 800g of it across six large servings. Buying rice and carrots in quantity is where the rest of the economy is.
A modest amount of lamb relative to the size of the finished dish, stretched by a great deal of rice and carrot, which is a considerably better ratio than most lamb dishes manage.
Substantial. Carbohydrate-heavy with a significant amount of fat, balanced by 700g of carrots, and it is designed to be the whole meal rather than one course of several.
One of the best returns on a long cook in this collection, and the single instruction that decides it — do not stir the rice in — takes no effort at all.
Uzbekistan and wider Central Asia. Cooked constantly in Russia, and not Russian in origin.
Palov in Uzbek; plov in Russian; osh in some regions.
PLOF in Russian, pa-LOV in Uzbek.
It belongs to the same word family as pilaf, pilav and polow, which runs across Persian, Turkish and South Asian cooking. The derivations offered beyond that are not settled and are best left alone.
Plov is a formal dish in Uzbek and Tajik cooking with named regional versions — Tashkent, Samarkand, Fergana — each differing in whether the rice is mixed with the zirvak or kept above it, and in how the carrot is cut. It reached Russia through imperial expansion into Central Asia in the nineteenth century and spread much more widely through Soviet-era movement of people between republics. UNESCO inscribed Uzbek and Tajik palov on its intangible cultural heritage lists in 2016.
The centrepiece of Uzbek and Tajik weddings and funerals and everyday food across Central Asia. At large gatherings it is cooked by men in cauldrons holding several hundred servings, which is a public role rather than a domestic one, and the person who cooks it carries real status.
Weddings above all, and funerals, and any gathering large enough to justify a cauldron. In Russia it is equally at home in a canteen at lunchtime.
The zirvak — the simmered base of meat, onion and carrot — is treated as a dish in its own right, and the rice is only laid over it at the end and never stirred down into it. Plov is properly cooked in a kazan, a thick cast-iron hemisphere set over fire, whose shape concentrates the heat at the base and lets the rice steam above it.
Domestic hobs and casseroles replaced the fire and the kazan, and sunflower oil very often replaces lamb tail fat, which is the change that alters the flavour most.
Fergana-style keeps the layers strictly separate; other regional versions mix the rice down into the zirvak deliberately. Chickpeas, quince, raisins and whole quails all appear in particular local versions, and the argument about which is correct is part of the dish.
No author. It is a regional dish with a formal public role and no single origin story attached to a person.