Plov

I could still hear the laughing and yelling coming from the kitchen of my grandparents house. While I was playing Legos with my cousins, the current generation was upstairs stuck with making food. As a kid, I still remember the odor of onions and the dramatic sizzling of the meat, awaiting the final result.

I remember walking around my grandma's island in her kitchen, looking around the table as my curious 9 year old mind could get, watching the carrots getting grated perfectly onto a cutting board. As I looked further, I was mesmerized in the boiling water that would soon be fresh rice, I turned around and my eyes started burning as I inspected my uncle “unwillingly” chop the onions into cube size pieces with tears in his eyes. I rushed out of the area quickly as my eyes felt like they were the meat, sizzling in the pan. 

I ran into my mom, as she was preparing the beef, plugging my nose from the smell of raw meat. As she caressed the seasoning on the beef with her delicate hands, she cut it into bite sized pieces, putting it all in a pan, sprinkling a generous amount of oil on the meat, watching the meat turn from a light red into a finishing darker brown. 

With all of the ingredients in effect, the last armageddon was upon all of my aunts and uncles, as my grandma pulled out a large decorated pot, step by step they were putting the pieces to the puzzle together. They first started off with adding 4 cups of water, the grated carrots, and the diced up onions. After about 15 minutes of mixing, they add the rice and beef into the pot, letting it simmer for 30 minutes.

After all of the ingredients made their way into the final destination, my aunts and uncles started setting everything up for the dinner, cleaning the dishes, setting the table and watching the food. I got commanded by my mom to call all of my cousins up to eat, “Kushat!” I yelled, as a hoard of my cousins were rushing up the stairs, legos in hand, getting ready to feast.

As I've gotten older I've learned more about my family traditions, such as making different types of food like Chicken Jello from the fat of the chicken, giving each other presents, and praying before a big meal with everyone. Out of all these traditions, the one that stuck with me the most was pretty simple, just rice, meat and carrots, but throughout my experience I've learned that Plov comes with more than just rice, meat and carrots. On my moms and dads’ side, families have always been responsible to bring in the plov, some people mess it up, while others have perfected it.