Of Rebels and Black Pots

The kazan is the traditional cooking vessel of Central Asia. Before the era of the modern kitchen and its various ailments, it served nearly every culinary need of the nomadic steppe societies and the farming villages to the south. A wide, round-bottomed metal cauldron, the kazan typically features broad, rounded teeth protruding from its rim, designed for easy removal from the fire or for nesting into a stand.

The word kazan originally meant "something hollowed out," though in practice it simply means "pot." It was likely an innovation of the early medieval Turks. Even in their ancestral homeland in the Altai Mountains, the Turks were renowned as master metalsmiths; this development likely displaced the earlier clay or copper cauldrons used by the Scythians and other nomadic peoples of Iranian origin.

As a vessel for boiling, steaming, frying, and slow-cooking, the kazan proved so versatile that it eventually conquered the kitchens of Inner Asia and migrated with the Turks all the way to the shores of the Mediterranean.

In time, the kazan became the unifying symbol of the Ottoman Janissaries—the elite corps of soldiers recruited from Christian subjects, converted to Islam, and drafted into the imperial army. As a symbolic object of brotherhood—the very foundation of military discipline and the army's stomach—the kazan was a primary target during uprisings. Overturning the company kazan was a definitive sign of mutiny. To this day, the Turkish expression “kazan devirmek”—to overturn the pot—remains a synonym for military rebellion or defiance of authority.

In Central Asia, the kazan also symbolized communal unity. The term “bir qorqozon” (one black cauldron) served as a shorthand for a village community and the central, portable object that defined it. Often, these pots were kept in the local mosque as a religious endowment (waqf), reserved for use on holidays.

Rulers and men of influence would donate these cauldrons to Islamic institutions as both a practical gift and a symbolic gesture of their concern for the community of believers. Enormous kazans were gifted to the Friday mosques of Herat and Nishapur. Perhaps the most famous of these giants was the one donated by Tamerlane to the mausoleum of Ahmed Yasawi in Turkistan (modern-day Kazakhstan). Given its design and location, this massive vessel likely served as a water reservoir rather than a cooking pot, but its symbolic and ceremonial weight for the local Sufi community was undeniable.

Large kazans thus held immense importance among the Sufi orders of Central Asia, serving as emblems of equality between brothers on the path, ceremonial charity, and the generosity and power of the order's leader.

In the khanqahs—the Sufi lodges—of Kashgar, Bukhara, and Samarkand, it was customary on certain Fridays or holidays to hold a grand ceremonial feast. Rice (plov) or a grain-and-meat porridge would be served alongside the dhikr ceremonies. A legendary kazan belonging to the Naqshbandi Sufis in Kashgar, known as the “Altun Deshim” (Uyghur for “Golden Pot”), stood a meter and a half high and three meters wide, feeding hundreds of followers. It is said to have earned its name because the gold jewelry of a local saint was donated to cast this giant vessel.

Today, decent kazans can be found in any Central Asian market, though many modern versions are unfortunately made of cast aluminum rather than heavy iron. If you desire a proper old kazan, as the god of the Turks intended, you must scour the edges of the markets in Osh, Bukhara, or Khujand for second-hand sellers. For a bargain, you can acquire a vessel fit to feed the idlers and saints of your Jerusalem neighborhood or establish a Sufi charity house in the heart of Tel Aviv; many blessings will surely be bestowed upon your head.

To conclude, we turn to a tale of our master and teacher, that man of many exploits, Nasreddin Hodja.

One day, the Hodja went to his stingy neighbor, Baha-ud-Din, and asked to borrow his kazan. With a sour look, the neighbor went to the pantry, returned with the heavy cauldron, and warned the Hodja not to delay its return.

Three days later, Nasreddin returned. When Baha-ud-Din peered inside the pot, he saw a small, round kazan nestled within. The neighbor asked, with some resentment, what in the name of God and His Messenger this strange little pot was doing inside the one he had lent.

The Hodja cleared his throat and explained that the Creator had willed it so: the neighbor’s kazan had been seized by labor pains during the night and, to everyone's surprise, had given birth to a splendid little pot. For a moment, Baha-ud-Din doubted the old man’s sanity, but reflecting that one man’s madness is another’s gain, he accepted the newborn into his kitchen with feigned respect.

A week later, Nasreddin returned and asked to borrow the kazan again. With newfound joy, Baha-ud-Din ran to the pantry and handed over the vessel.

Two days passed, then three, then five, and Baha-ud-Din began to fear for his precious pot. He went to the Hodja’s house, knocked on the threshold, and demanded its return.

In a mournful voice, Nasreddin informed him that the kazan his kind neighbor had lent him had suddenly fallen ill that night, passed away at dawn, and was buried with honor on the banks of the Amu Darya.

Fuming, Baha-ud-Din roared in the Hodja’s face, asking what on earth he was talking about, what this nonsense meant, and what had actually happened to his property.

With total equanimity, the Hodja remarked, “A kazan capable of giving birth is certainly capable of dying.”

He adjusted his cloak and walked out into the orchard.

In the pictures:

The ceremonial kazan of the Ahmed Yasawi Mausoleum, Turkistan, Kazakhstan.

Plov: a scientific cross-section.

Monument to the kazan in the city of Kazan, Russia, which takes its name from the vessel.

Plov sellers, Kokand, 19th century.

Ottoman Janissaries carrying the company kazan.

Nasreddin Hodja