With Ashlee in UB, I was looking forward to a quiet day watching movies that she would typically veto if she were home (Charlie Wilson's War & The Last King of Scotland). Instead, however, I was invited to a little Nayourz feast at the home of our hashaa family. I know that I have used the word "hashaa" a few times before, but in case you don't recognize it "hashaa" is the Mongolian word for yard. Only in Mongolia, yards are more like compounds -- families tend to have large plots of land that are completely enclosed and most likely guarded by at least one vicious dog. Our dog's name is Mongo and he scares the bejeesus out of me.
Anyways, it was quite a large gathering. There must have been 15 to 20 people crammed around two fully decked-out tables. As is usual, I was escorted to the VIP section of the dining area that is reserved for elders and honored guests. This meant that I spent approximately two hours sandwiched between elderly men who only stopped speaking Kazakh long enough to foist the choicest cuts of fatty meat onto my plate.
Dining-wise, I think I really held my own. I actually enjoyed the pasta salad with pickled vegetables and I have come to like the white tea that is a Kazakh staple. I also got my second taste of kojay (the special Nayourz soup) and I put away at least two bowls. I knew, however, that all these dishes were just the warm-up for the main event: the meat plate. Ah, what would a Kazakh meal be without a meat plate? Again, owing to my VIP-status, the meat plate that was put at our table came with the added bonus of a freshly boiled goat's head. I really should have taken a picture of it, but I didn't want to offend my hosts by drawing attention to the fact that boiled goat heads are a novelty to Americans.
After a few prayers and stirring song in Arabic, the signal was given for everyone to dig in. The grandfather who was sitting to my right -- who probably did 90% of the talking -- took the knife first and he began carving up the goat head. As he was slicing and dicing, I realized that the horns on the goat looked really familiar. It was only a few seconds before I realized that it was indeed the same goat that has been living in the small garden area outside our living room window. I hated that goat. It always made so much noise and I could swear that it always looked at me funny. I guess this was my chance to take some revenge.
So yeah, Grandfather was busy passing out bits of goat face, and I was desperately hoping that he would somehow forget to give me some. No such luck, though. I was given the ear. It tasted about as delicious as it sounds.
Overall, despite the gastrointestinal challenges, I really enjoyed myself today. I was happy to be able to share in the holiday spirit, and whenever an awkward moment popped up, I amused myself by wondering what some of my dinner guests would be like if there were to come to my parent's house on Thanksgiving. "Yes, Grandpa, everyone gets their OWN napkin!"
Here's some pictures.
The man on the far left is Nurlan and the woman on the far right is Saulesh. They are our "hashaa parents."
The woman in the middle with the black vest w/ green designs is Apa, which is Kazakh for grandmother. She's a wonderful lady who has taken a strong liking to me. She is constantly trying to get me to eat everything and she always tells me that my Kazakh is excellent, which is an absolute lie. The two older girls on the right, Baby & Pettie, are Nurlan's and Saulesh's daughters.
I sat smack-dab in the middle of these four men.
That's Saulesh again on the right.
A picture of the spread minus the meat plate.
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