5 Funny Food stories

One of the top questions I get from family and friends when they ask me about Kazakhstan is "How's the food?" In my opinion a volunteer's initial opinion of the quality of the food widely depends on the cooking abilities of the host family they are living with. Just as it is in America, if you are around someone who cooks very well, you will be happy. For me, I am lucky and have a great host family that cooks good food. They hate spicy food (watching my host brother try Tabasco is one of the funniest moments I've had here), and like a lot of mayonnaise, but besides that, I cannot complain.

Eating in Kazakhstan is more than just shoving food down your throat; it is a chance to meet new people, catch up with old friends, and have a good time. Kazakh culture is known for throwing big feasts at all major life events (funerals, weddings, baby showers, etc), and bringing out a lot of food whenever friends go "ghosting". (People say you are ghosting when they go out to visit others.)

Because eating is a major part of life, interesting and weird things happen to me, and that I am in a drastically different culture than my own, I have some funny (or gross, depending on who you are) stories dealing with food.

• Drinking "deer's blood" mixed with vodka. One day, some relatives came "ghosting" at my host family's house. They brought along a green bottle filled with some reddish liquid and asked if I would try it. As is my policy to try everything once, I gave it a go. It was slightly salty, and had a vodka aftertaste. It wasn't bad, but not that good, and reminded me of the taste in my mouth whenever I bite my tongue. The next day, I asked my host sister what it was. She said that it was deer's blood mixed with vodka, and they drink it because an old Kazakh legend says it will make people strong. I'm still not sure if this is true, because every Kazakh person I've asked says that it's true, and every person who is not Kazakh has never heard of it. Either way, I have not seen it again.

• Eating horse meat. A lot of volunteers who come to Kazakhstan complain about the quality of the meat. As I learn more about the culture here, I am beginning to believe that it is not the quality of the meat that is lacking, but instead there is an emphasis on eating the fat. Where Americans like meat with as little fat as possible, here in Kazakhstan they like the opposite. For the past couple of weeks, I was avoiding the fat, and then one day, there was a chuck of meat that didn't have fat on it. It reminded me of roast beef. It was even better with Tabasco. As is my usual custom, I asked them afterwards what type of meat it was, and my host mother said that is was horse. This was a great cultural exchange for both of us, because she thought that I would run away or be grossed out (as the past volunteer did after hearing the news) which I wasn't, and I experienced eating horse. Actually, it is the best meat I have eaten in Kazakhstan.

• Eating the previous mentioned item for breakfast and lunch and dinner the next day. Leftovers are taken seriously, and here it means "eat it until it is gone". With something big like a horse, it can take a little while to finish, even with people coming over and "ghosting". While it may sound disconcerting to eat leftovers, it's not so bad. For the first couple of days. Tabasco helps.

• Drinking at 9am on Sunday morning. My host family's grandfather came "ghosting" at 9am on Sunday, and because we had not met each other, demanded that we have a toast with vodka. 2 hours later and a third of the bottle consumed (mostly by him and not me), he announced that we knew each other very well, and as I left to go do some work, he kissed me on the cheek and said in Kazakh that I was like a grandson to him.

• This story is referred to as the "chicken disaster". My Russian language group wanted to cook some popular Kazakhstan dishes, to which our teacher, Galina, said that if we went to the bazaar and bought the stuff ourselves we could do it. We divided up the tasks, and tromped to the bazaar. Brittany and I were supposed to get the chicken. Along the way to the bazaar, (about a 20 min. walk) we forgot the word for chicken. We thought that if we sat down for a while, we would remember. There happened to be a cafe along the way, so we took a break and wracked our brains for the right word. Eventually, Brittany drew a picture of a chicken and showed it to the waitress, and she told us. Armed with the new knowledge, we bought the chicken and took it to class, where the Galina looked at it and told us that we were ripped off (because the word for chicken and the word for chicken fat is a one syllable difference). She promptly went back to the bazaar with me, yelled at the seller, and got our money back. Galina=awesome