Laghman Express
6201 20th ave, near the N train
Mapleton, Brooklyn
The pedestrian quality of red bell peppers is largrly forgotten at Laghman Express, where they fade into the background. The Uyghur restaurant opened last year on a quiet stretch of 20th avenue in Mapleton, just a few blocks from the cannolli shops of Bensonhurst. Uyghurs are an ethnic minority of China with a cuisine that combines elements of Northwest region (peppercorns and lamian) and Central Asia (dumplings, lamb and rice, sour cream). Much of the staff I believe are from Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, and they are exceptionally hospitable.
Handpulled noodles are snugly gripped by peppery tomatoes, darkened from caramelization, and impossibly QQ— springy, in expert parlance. Forget everything you know about stir fry. Kissed with wok breath, smokey and singed with the shy scent of cumin, these are dry fried noodles are covetable in the extreme. One of life’s myriad pleasures is stumbling upon a delicious new-to-me food, and lo and behold, this is it.
The other laghman dishes, are tasty permutations of noodles, lamb, and onion. Guoyouru laghman finds the twisted lengths of dough in a soupy base. Suirou laghman is the same but with the toppings minced. You can have the starch chopped down to irregular size too as in pearl noodles, something approximating spaetzle, to scoop up neatly with a spoon. A french fry version with the same spice and veg medley has also been a popular choice on the nights i’ve been.
The elongated noodle portions are generous, but not overwhelming. The meat dishes stretch further. Dapanji, also known as “big tray chicken,” is good and mild. The cleaver-hacked bird sends you on the usual treasure hunt amid bits of bone. It’s not spicy in the least, but for that there’s a glass crock of chili oil on the table. There are other glories to be had here though.
Like the ethereal thin-skinned manti that appear to be pleated with a little more care than your usual dumplings spot, brimming with lamb and chives, sometimes pumpkin. Similarly the samsa, pocket-sized hand pies flecked with sesame, are easy to get wrong, but end up so right: perfectly flaky and not a bit dry.
Just as good: their smaller wonton counterparts (Uzbek style chuchvara, which I’ve extolled before) plinked into soup, the oily broth just shy of being not a broth at all and dotted with yellows of squash (not pepper, which they appear to be at first glance) and cilantro. You can also get it with a gargantuan leg of lamb where the meat all but slides off the bone.
Crispy cold smashed cucumber salad, the only hit of acid in this meal, is one way to cut fat. Another is a carafe of tea. It’s sugared by default unless you request otherwise.
What else:
Your meal may be preceded with a complimentary plate of fried dough, which you should abstain from until the end of the meal. Everything comes out fast.
Dishes are served humbly on disposable paper plates and plastic to-go containers, though you may not have anything left.
Water bottles, soda, and slices of not-too-sweet trifle-esque layer cakes are in the fridge.
An off-menu plov is served at dinner, and I’m told by a reliable source that it’s excellent.
I wonder if the dry fried noodles might approximate the appeal of spaghetti all'assassina, which is also clingy with sauce and doubly soft and firm.
A very similar version of the soup is common in Crimean cuisine, a holdover from their displaced years in Central Asia. It’s so good!