So we found this out of the way Middle Eastern restaurant in South Boundbrook
serving wonderful falafels and gyros and kebabs. If I remember correctly, we giggled like little schoolgirls at our good fortune. We told Amir the manager that we really liked the food and would come back. He said confidently, “I know.”
We were so full that we had no space for dessert, but we did manage to come back with these Afghan pastries. Later, we bit into them and our jaws dropped. The pastry was so delicate and flakey and the cream filling positively divine. We giggled like little schoolgirls again, the second time that day.
When we returned to Kebab Palace, we asked Amir what the desserts were called. After some decoding of his thick accent, we determined that they are called “cream rolls”. I presume there’s a native Afghan name for them that’s too hard for us Westerners to pronounce.
Oh, and one more note. We went back again tonight. A group of young men came in. Iraqi. Say what you will about this country and what we do overseas, but it really is nice to live in a country where, away from the headlines and the news, Afghanis and Iraqis and Filipino-Americans and Italian-Americans can live their lives amongst each other.