sky-blue flag hanging out of a second-floor window is the only giveaway. No sign, no exotic aromas wafting through the air, no foreign-looking people dashing in and out to hint a passer-by that beyond two floors of a wood-panelled Finchley pub lies an altogether different realm that actually has a thing or two to do with Borat's Kazakhstan.Once upstairs, smiley Kazakh waiters greet us in a colourfully, if haphazardly, decorated room. “Nomadic” rugs and brightly coloured cushions are piling around low tables. You can choose between sitting on topchans or regular European chairs. The window sills are lined with generic bric-a-brac of unidentifiable purpose and provenance. "Exotic" scrolls alternate with generic Art Nouveau lamps on the walls adorned with drawings of Chinese-looking trees. Edward Said would be reeling.
My Grandma’s Cossack family in the 19th century founded Kazakhstan’s present capital as a Russian military outpost in the newly annexed lands but my knowledge of Kazakh cuisine is limited to the mysterious word beshbarmak. I always imagined it to be something lamby, succulent and utterly delightful, a kind of herby pilaff reserved for special occasions.
We wade through a multitude of Russian and generic Oriental classics on the menu trying to line up an authentic Kazakh feast. Our only guide are the strange sounding names of the dishes, as the waiters claim everything they serve is Kazakh. Right. Okroshka is a common staple in the Central Asian steppes. Our orders arrive in the course of over three odd hours, mains before starters, all in a very random succession, providing us with ample time to ruminate whether they are actually slaughtering lambs in the basement to cook for us.
First we get what Russians call "aubergine caviar" (£3.50) , stew of finely shredded aubergines with onions and garlic. Olga's nostalgic choice however turns out very bland stir-fried marrow and tomatoes. Our impenetrably friendly waiter insists it is aubergine and we just leave it at that.
Some time later arrives a wicker basket with baursaki (£3.50), deep-fried pieces of dough, which in the ovenless nomadic world acted as bread. Rather bland in taste, they are however, pleasantly not greasy.
Forty minutes of chatting with Olga and two reminders later arrives kuyrdak (£9.90) . What the waiter has promised to be lamb stew turns out to be chunks of liver and potatoes in an extremely economic amount of some onion and tomato based sauce. The liver is way overdone and hard to bite, so we send it back to the kitchen.
Whilst waiting for the next dish we share a bowl of shurpa or sorpa, clear beef soup with potatoes, carrots and onions. A sprinkle of chopped dill on top of it adds finishing touch to this simple consommé. What was advertised as "traditional Kazakh tea" comes in the form of English Breakfast teabags soaking in hot water. Whilst I think how to react, Olga sends it packing too. Good riddance.
Manty, are steamed dumplings filled with finely chopped meat and onions in equal proportions. Normally they are full of aromatic broth spouting fountains of taste into your mouth. This time however the thin dough got torn before they even ended up on our plate, so what we get is boiled meatballs wrapped in tasteless dough - quite a treat for eight quid.
Triangular samsa pies (£5) are also filled with meat and onions. The dough is nicely flavoured and it's the only dish this evening that experienced a proper Maillard reaction. Hand-made in the restaurant's kitchen, they are, however, served hot, right from the oven, which is a big mistake: they need to be allowed to "come around" wrapped in cloth. The steam coming from the filling then would make the crust moist and pleasant to bite.
And finally, the pièce de résistance, Kazakh national dish of bes barmak (£9) solves my childhood mystery: it turns out square pieces of noodle boiled with onions and beef. By this time we are so behind all schedules and tired of waiting that we take it home in a doggie bag. My attempt to take a picture of the culprits of our dining fiasco in the kitchen are greeted with vehement protests. People dodge out of my way like scared hens. I sense a working visa problem there. They sure won't be getting Highly Skilled Immigrant ones here.
Pro's: The only place in London to enjoy Kazakh culinary exuberance.
Con's: Hard to find. Clueless (if friendly) service. Randomly appointed interior. Nothing-to-write-home-about food.
In a nutshell: This act needs to put its stuff together to call themselves a restaurant.
Dastarkhan
203 Holloway Road
London
N7 8DL
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