In Uzbekistan, people like to speak briefly and precisely—preferably at the table. Especially when the rice is steaming under the lid. Proverbs about plov are not just figures of speech but culinary rules of life: about labor, character, friendship, and the ability to wait until it boils. We selected ten such formulas and found their equivalents in Russian. Sometimes they match in meaning, sometimes in mood. But in each, as in a perfect plate, there is both zirvak, and salt, and a moral worth remembering. Or at least repeating. With a second helping.

No. 1. Prepare a feast for the guest, leave your hands empty.

Translation: Serve the guest pilaf — and free both hands

Equivalent in Russian: A guest in the house is God in the house.

The Uzbek version sounds less like a proverb and more like a survival guide for a relative's visit. It's not about a plate of pilaf—it's about a whole philosophy of serving: the guest should eat, and you must not interfere. No "help yourself," "the spoon is over there," "here's the bread"—your hands must be free to pour tea in time, serve the salad, straighten the tablecloth, and shoo away the children who are again noisily running around underfoot.

Overall — it sounds like a sports exercise: swimming, salad, onion, then tea — three sets of eight reps. The main thing is to rest on the bench in time and not forget to ask: "Another round?"

No. 2. Good advice makes the meal sweet

Translation: Plov cooked with advice is tastier

Equivalent in Russian: Two heads are better than one

"If you set out with a friend, the road is merrier," as the song goes. And if you start cooking plov with a friend, there's a greater chance it won't burn. Uzbek wisdom advises: don't cook alone—ask for advice, listen to someone experienced.

Though, to be honest, experienced oshpazes often emphasize: real pilaf should be prepared by one person — from peeling the carrots to lifting the lid. When three people with different views on zirvak interfere with the cauldron, a culinary masterpiece risks turning into a collective misunderstanding.

But still… if the advice is sound and the atmosphere is friendly—both the taste and the mood will be top-notch. And if something goes wrong, there will be someone to share the responsibility with.

№ 3. The young come for work, the old come for food.

Translation: To the young — the task, to the old — the plov

Equivalent in Russian:  To the young — the road, to the old — respect (or more precisely: "To the young everywhere there is a road, to the old everywhere there is respect" — from the film "Circus", 1936)

Essentially, it's like with taxes: the able-bodied work so that pensioners receive their monthly transfer to their card — for meat and carrots. One is cooking, the other is sitting on a bench and saying: "Just don't stir too early, or the rice won't open up."

No. 4. Plov is good for an Uzbek, meat is for a Kazakh.

Translation: An Uzbek loves plov, a Kazakh loves meat

Equivalent in Russian: Tastes and colors cannot be discussed

To each their own: an Uzbek without plov, a Kazakh without meat on their plate feels anxiety in their soul. Every nation has its own tastes, its own gastronomic sacred cows. Some believe that without rice, it's not a meal, while others are sure that everything except meat is just a side dish.

And this is not a cause for arguments, but for a generous feast, where pilaf is steaming and a lamb leg lies on a dish with spices. If both are on the table—congratulations, you are most likely somewhere between Tashkent and Shymkent. Or simply visiting a person who loves everyone.

Because the essence is not about which is more important - rice or meat. What matters is that the table is generous, warm, and humanly delicious.

№ 5. Where there is a lazy cook, there is tasteless food.

Translation: Where have you seen a head without worries and a pilaf without effort?

Equivalent in Russian: You can't even pull a fish out of a pond without effort.

Want a real pilaf — be so kind, put in the work. Slice the carrots into strips, rinse the rice no less than seven times, stoke the fire, keep an eye on the meat. And at the end — don’t stir too soon. Because pilaf isn’t just food, it’s a process that demands respect, patience, and strong nerves.

And if you want it "quick and easy" — just throw everything into a slow cooker. But what you'll get isn't pilaf; it's something suspiciously crumbly with an aftertaste of regret.

No. 6. The soup won't cook with a gap

Translation: Actions speak louder than words

Equivalent in Russian:  You can't make soup from conversation — you need cabbage and meat

Bonus. Armenian version: You can't make pilaf from words alone, you need rice and oil.

Plov, like life, doesn't like empty talk. Everything sounds beautiful — the zirvak is about to be ready, the rice is already fluffy in your imagination, the meat is tender and aromatic. All that's left is... to begin. Because without fire, oil, and a pair of strong hands, even the most inspiring conversation will remain just a conversation.

You can't be forbidden to live deliciously — but you'll have to make an effort. An aromatic result is not a matter of words, but of time, labor, and responsibility. A cauldron doesn't respond to "let's do it later," and zirvak doesn't cook itself on inspiration. It needs firewood, oil, and a person who, instead of long speeches, will simply begin.

Because pilaf is not a presentation. It doesn't like extra slides. Only substance.

№ 7. Where there is work, there is food.

Translation: Where there is work, there is pilaf

Equivalent in Russian: Work hard, and there will be bread and milk to be had

No work — no bite. With work — there's meat, carrots, and cumin on top. Plov won't cook itself. Worked — eat. Didn't work — watch others eat. Or grab a knife, peel carrots, and become part of the team. Even tea here is poured for those who are busy. For the rest — the aroma from the kitchen.

№ 8. If I say work, my lover is upset; if I say food, my big spoon is ready.

Translation: Work — the soul aches, but when they hear about pilaf — a spoon will be found.

Equivalent in Russian: Healthy in food, but frail in work

Antoshka, Antoshka, let's go dig up some potatoes… And he replies: "We weren't assigned that!" But come lunchtime—no problem: the spoon is ready, the appetite too. Talented.

There are always plenty of such heroes. While the cauldron sizzles, they are busy. As soon as the lid is lifted, they run as if they themselves cooked the zirvak. However, Uzbek wisdom has long seen through them.

No. 9. A sweet tongue can lure a fish from the sea, a bitter tongue can break a stone.

Translation: A kind word will bring you pilaf, a harsh one will bring you stones.

Equivalent in Russian: A kind word is pleasant even to a cat

A polite "assalomu alaykum" – and they're already smiling at you, spreading out the tablecloth and adding more meat to your plate. But grumble angrily – and there you are in the kitchen, scrubbing the cauldron, watching the pilaf through the steam and your own resentment. Pilaf does not tolerate rudeness. It prefers a quiet voice and compliments to the hostess. And with an evil tongue, you can only talk your way into stones. At best, you'll sit on the edge, without salad and without tea.

So if you want to add some rice to your dish—start with a warm word. Not with harsh criticism of the zirvak. This isn't the show "Survival Kitchen"!

No. 10. Working stone teeth, non-working stone teeth

Translation: The worker eats the pilaf, the idler gnaws stones

Equivalent in Russian: He who does not work, neither shall he eat

Harsh but fair. Nothing more to add