Having just watched Julie & Julia, I am inspired to describe our very own eating extravaganza, also to be known as our only meal this Saturday.
The producer of the reality tv show patrick is in has, for many weeks now, insisted on having us over for horhog, a stew largely composed of, wait for it, meat.
Uniquely Mongolian in this manner, it is comprised of layers of foraged stones, meat, stones, meat, stones, some vegetables (a carrot), potatoes, stones and meat. The stones serve as a cooking device in the stew, I'm trying to figure out why because it's still heated by fire but I suppose they distribute the heat throughout the pot during the cooking process and make for a fun distraction later on.
A feast of Indian food the evening before left neither of us particularly hungry for breakfast or lunch, so by the time 5 pm rolled around, we would have eaten the hot-stones had they been offered to us. It was around this time we entered the home of the producer's mother in law, which, I will admit smelled like a slice of mutton heaven (the home, not the mother). A huge tin pot was sitting over the fire the brother in law, in white cotton gloves ceremoniously loaded huge hunks of sheep onto two trays.
The hotstones, removed first, were handed to us with the claim that they were good for the circulation. As we dutifully bounced the stones, glistening with fat, between our hands, for a brief moment, the desire to dive into the meat stew was put to rest by the burning sensation
in my palms. (George later told us that the hotstones are often rubbed over the body following the stewing period and preceding the meal - we unfortunately did not have the pleasure of having that shared experience with our hosts)We stood watching the unloading of brunner onto trays, and as the random pieces of sheep legs bounced to the floor, it became evident that the 5 second rule holds hard and fast in Mongolia. And now, I'm sure it is these pieces that are sitting in the plastic bag that was handed to us as horhog takeaway when we left a few hours later.
Seated, the trays were loaded onto our makeshift tables, without nary a plate or fork in sight, we were instructed to eat with our hands, which we did gleefully. I cannot describe what it's like to face a piece of meat lined with a two inch layer of fat when your proclivity for food tends towards spinach and dark chocolate. Being culturally adroit, and physically too weak to resist, I dove in molars first, gnawing and slurping with gusto, leaving the bones and fat on the plastic table cloth like my fellow table mates. The producer must have known me in a past life and placed in front of me a bowl of luscious green broccoli, which I proceeded to dip in the mutton soup while the men layered their consumption with shots of vodka and cigarettes.
As delicious as the food was after 17 hours of 'fasting for Easter', the feeling of having overindulged hit pretty quickly after, particularly when, I asked patrick if he was hungry again and he looked at me blankly, and unwaiveringly said, 'are you serious?'. I blame the lively red bruschetta being chopped and consumed in the, as well as Meryl Streep's joyful reenactment of Julia Child biting into a juicy pear in a colorful Parisien market scene.
Our hosts were exceedingly generous and it was truly a rich cultural and gastronomic experience. As with any good meal, it was accompanied by a dicussion on politics, a shot of vodka, and Mongolian milk tea 'coo tsai'. We now have a thick lining of sheep leg coating our stomachs and a reason to nap for the next 10 days.
Have you guys recovered yet?
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