mongolia

As my sister is currently living in Mongolia, I found this travelogue on Slate a week or so ago to be particularly interesting, but I think it is probably of interest to people without relatives living in Mongolia, as well. Its a five part series, so start at the beginning, but I think the highlight is probably the fourth part, on Mongolian food. Probably my most outlandish menu selection in a while was the grasshopper taco at Oyamel here in DC, which people tend to think was a fairly adventurous choice, but I think it pales in comparison:

"On our very last morning on the road, the mutton problem became a crisis. At fault was our dear driver, Bimba, who decided it was time to celebrate the trip by buying a whole sheep and slaughtering it. As we went into a local ger to eat breakfast, I noticed that the sheep's head had been removed, and the internal organs were being poured into a giant pot, the same way you might empty a can of beans.

Surely this was to feed the dogs, I thought. No one really wants to eat the lungs, stomach, and intestines of an aged sheep.

Au contraire. I'm sorry to say that we had to watch the whole mess boiling for a while on the dung fire, yielding bubbles of brownish-gray scum. Afterward, a giant steaming bowl of internal organs was placed before us with some ceremony. Out came knives and a mixture of anatomy lesson and breakfast as we sampled one organ after another. I must stress the degree to which our dear friend Bimba considered this the way to cement our friendship. There was no backing away from trying each and every organ and making a good go of the whole thing. Even fearless Miki looked a little pale.

Comparatively speaking, I suppose the stomach and heart were the highlights. Despite our host's enthusiasm, I felt there was something deeply fishy about the lungs--they had a spongy texture that you had to bite hard to get through. There were many organs that I didn't really recognize but also did not enjoy. And as for the intestines and connecting flesh covered with fat, I felt, for the first time, what 19th-century writers refer to as "rising bile." I said to myself, "This is like a horror film, except I am eating the special effects."

All the while, the sheep's severed head sat off to one side, watching us sadly. Next to him sat his forearms and legs, placed in a small pile. But fear not. We did pack that head into our jeep, and back in the capital, we ate him for lunch. "Omoshirokatta," said Miki. "That was interesting!"