My father’s opinion on kebabs is firm and non-negotiable: the kebab is the highest form of cooking, and Afghan kebabs are the highest form of kebab. He’ll debate this with anyone. He has debated this with Turkish neighbours, Lebanese colleagues, and a very confused butcher at Flemington markets who just wanted to know how many lamb chops he wanted.

Growing up in Sydney’s western suburbs, kebabs were the centrepiece of every family gathering, every celebration, and most ordinary weekends. My dad would start preparing the charcoal at noon for a dinner that wouldn’t happen until 7pm, because proper Afghan grilling is not something you rush. The charcoal has to burn down to grey-white embers. There can be no visible flame. If there’s flame, my father says, you’re burning the meat, not grilling it. And burning meat is, in his view, a moral failing.

He’s dramatic about it. But he’s also not wrong.

The Main Types

Afghan cuisine has several distinct kebab styles, each with its own preparation, seasoning, and place in the meal.

Chapli Kebab is probably the most distinctly Afghan variety. It’s a flat, round patty made from minced beef or lamb mixed with onions, tomatoes, green chillies, coriander, and a generous amount of spices - typically cumin, coriander seeds, black pepper, and sometimes dried pomegranate seeds. The mixture is shaped by hand into flat discs about the size of your palm and cooked on a flat griddle or tawa rather than on skewers over charcoal.

Chapli kebab originated in the Pashtun regions along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. The name comes from “chapata,” meaning flat. Every family has their own ratio of meat to onion (my mother uses about 60/40 meat to onion, which some families consider excessive onion, but it keeps the kebabs incredibly moist).

Seekh Kebab is minced meat - usually lamb - mixed with onions, herbs, and spices, shaped around flat metal skewers, and grilled over charcoal. The key to good seekh kebab is the fat content of the meat. Too lean and the kebab dries out and crumbles. My father insists on at least 20% fat in the mince. The spicing is simpler than chapli - just salt, pepper, cumin, and fresh coriander. The charcoal does the rest.

Getting the mince to stick to the skewer is an art. You need to knead the mixture until it becomes sticky and cohesive. Some cooks add a small amount of chickpea flour to help bind it. My mother adds nothing - she says if you need flour, your mince is too lean or you haven’t kneaded it enough.

Tikka Kebab uses chunks of lamb or chicken, marinated and threaded onto skewers. The marinade is where families differentiate themselves. A typical Afghan tikka marinade includes yoghurt, garlic, ginger, turmeric, cumin, paprika, salt, and lemon juice. Some families add saffron. Some add ground cardamom. My aunt adds a spoonful of tomato paste, which is considered mildly controversial.

The chunks should be large enough to stay juicy on the grill - about 4-5 centimetres. Too small and they dry out. The yoghurt in the marinade tenderises the meat and creates a slight char on the outside that’s one of the best flavours in existence.

Lamb Chop Kebab (shami kebab in some regions) is the simplest preparation: bone-in lamb chops, seasoned with salt, pepper, and sometimes a light yoghurt coating, grilled directly over charcoal. My father considers this the purest test of a grill master. There’s nowhere to hide. The quality of the meat, the heat of the coals, and the timing all have to be right.

The Charcoal

I can’t overstate how important charcoal is to Afghan grilling. Gas grills are not accepted in my family. Electric grills are not mentioned. The flavour of meat cooked over natural charcoal is fundamentally different - smokier, more complex, with a slight bitterness that balances the richness of the lamb.

We use natural lump charcoal, not briquettes. Briquettes contain binders and additives that my father claims he can taste. I’m not sure I can taste the difference, but I’ve learned not to say this out loud.

The charcoal needs to burn for at least 30-40 minutes before cooking starts. You want embers, not flames. The heat should be intense but even. You should be able to hold your hand about 15 centimetres above the coals for roughly three seconds before pulling away. That’s the right temperature for kebabs.

For a proper Afghan barbecue, you need a long, narrow grill - traditionally a mangal, which is essentially a metal trough on legs. The flat metal skewers sit across the top of the trough, with the meat suspended over the coals. This design allows you to rotate the skewers easily and move them to hotter or cooler spots as needed.

You can find mangals at Middle Eastern grocery stores in Sydney and Melbourne, or at some outdoor supply shops. I’ve also seen families make their own from steel sheeting, which works perfectly well.

Serving

Afghan kebabs are served with naan bread (always), salad (usually), and chutneys. The standard accompaniments are:

A fresh salad of sliced onions, tomatoes, and green chillies dressed with lemon juice and salt. The raw onion is essential. It cuts through the richness of the meat.

Green chutney made from fresh coriander, mint, green chillies, garlic, lemon juice, and salt, all blended together. This is the default Afghan condiment and it goes on everything.

White yoghurt sauce with dried mint and a pinch of salt. Cooler and milder than the green chutney, it’s especially good with chapli kebabs.

Rice is sometimes served alongside, particularly for larger gatherings. But for a casual barbecue, it’s bread and salad. That’s all you need.

The Social Element

I should mention that in Afghan culture, the barbecue is not a casual affair. It’s an event. When my father fires up the mangal, the entire extended family knows about it. Uncles arrive. Cousins materialise. Neighbours who happen to be walking past are invited to sit down.

The grilling is done by the men, which is one of those cultural patterns that my generation is slowly adjusting. My sister now grills better seekh kebab than any of my uncles, and she’s not shy about saying so. My father pretends to be scandalised and then eats three of her kebabs and says nothing.

The conversation around the grill is as important as the food. Stories get told. Arguments about spice ratios go on for hours. Someone always claims their grandmother’s recipe is the authentic version and everyone else’s is an innovation. These disputes are never resolved and nobody actually wants them resolved. The argument is the point.

If you haven’t tried Afghan kebabs, start with chapli kebab. It’s the most accessible to make at home, doesn’t require special equipment beyond a heavy frying pan, and the flavour is extraordinary. Use good lamb mince from a halal butcher if you can find one - the quality makes a real difference.

And if you ever get invited to an Afghan barbecue, go. Bring nothing except your appetite. Everything else will be provided in abundance.