frozen river I, originally uploaded by Wanderings.
Learning to read
Most of you know that I teach Linden (the youngest member of the clan) two mornings a week. Since Christmas, she's mastered both her capital and lowercase letters as well as their sounds and now we've stepped fully into the Hooked on Phonics reading curriculum. It has been a lot of fun to work with her. The entire family has enjoyed helping her ... whether its quizzing her on letters over breakfast or listening to her read one of her new books. She's so determined to do this.
"Don't tell me, Jen. I want to read it by myself."
(I'm a bit behind in my posts. She mastered her letter sounds a couple weeks ago.)
Watching Linden go through this has reminded me that -- though I loved to read as a kid -- I have no memory of actually learning how to read. Do you?
"Don't tell me, Jen. I want to read it by myself."
(I'm a bit behind in my posts. She mastered her letter sounds a couple weeks ago.)
Watching Linden go through this has reminded me that -- though I loved to read as a kid -- I have no memory of actually learning how to read. Do you?
Tastes Like Horse (ed. 10): бууз
25 March 2009
бооз: Mongolian dumplings, originally uploaded by Wanderings.
To say that there's such a thing as Mongolian cuisine would be a bit of a stretch. Mongolian food tends to be very utilitarian and usually consists of meat and flour (mixed together in a variety of ways). (Who is that comedian who talks about Mexican food all being the same thing? A tortilla with meat, beans, cheese, lettuce, tomato...)
A Mongolian might turn the flour into a simple pasta dough, cut it into noodles, then fry it up with some meat. Or make it into a bread dough and fill it with meat like a fluffy pita or thin calzone and deep-fry it. Or, in the case of buuz, roll the flour out into a thin wonton-like dough, put a ball of ground meat in the middle, pinch it together, and steam the life out of it. The meat of choice here in Mongolia is mutton, but you may find beef, horse, or camel in your buuz (depending on the family's preference or -- in the country -- livestock).
Buuz (pronounced "bodes") is probably the most common Mongolian dish. I can't say that I'm a big fan of it. The meat is often ground together with grissle, fat, and who knows what else (remember: utilitarian) and tends to be heavy and greasy. But, Mongolians love it. Like Americans and our pizza, I guess. During the weeks leading up to Tsagaan Sar, while families spend their free time making hundreds and hundreds of buuz, everyone hopes and prays for cold, cold weather. The finished buuz will be piled outside the ger or on the apartment balcony and kept there in nature's freezer until the holiday begins. If the weather gets too warm too soon, you'll hear about a lot of Mongolians becoming quite ill in the days following the celebrations. But -- regardless of the weather or the possibility of food poisoning -- the buuz are made and the buuz are consumed. Happy Tsagaan Sar! Though they are consumed in abundance during the holidays, buuz are actually a fairly common, day-to-day meal.
This summer, I had a type of buuz called a mantuun buuz, which is actually exceptionally tasty. It resembles piroshki or pasties and is usually stuffed with grilled/sliced meat and maybe even some onions. Mmmmm... Now if that is what they served every holiday, I'd be a happy girl.
There's a new cafe in the same building as the school and it's serving up a variety of tasty-but-cheap food including a handful of Mongolian dishes. I'm hoping to try out their khuushur in the next week or so and will be sure to get some pictures for you. More bread and flour -- I know you can't wait!
A Mongolian might turn the flour into a simple pasta dough, cut it into noodles, then fry it up with some meat. Or make it into a bread dough and fill it with meat like a fluffy pita or thin calzone and deep-fry it. Or, in the case of buuz, roll the flour out into a thin wonton-like dough, put a ball of ground meat in the middle, pinch it together, and steam the life out of it. The meat of choice here in Mongolia is mutton, but you may find beef, horse, or camel in your buuz (depending on the family's preference or -- in the country -- livestock).
Buuz (pronounced "bodes") is probably the most common Mongolian dish. I can't say that I'm a big fan of it. The meat is often ground together with grissle, fat, and who knows what else (remember: utilitarian) and tends to be heavy and greasy. But, Mongolians love it. Like Americans and our pizza, I guess. During the weeks leading up to Tsagaan Sar, while families spend their free time making hundreds and hundreds of buuz, everyone hopes and prays for cold, cold weather. The finished buuz will be piled outside the ger or on the apartment balcony and kept there in nature's freezer until the holiday begins. If the weather gets too warm too soon, you'll hear about a lot of Mongolians becoming quite ill in the days following the celebrations. But -- regardless of the weather or the possibility of food poisoning -- the buuz are made and the buuz are consumed. Happy Tsagaan Sar! Though they are consumed in abundance during the holidays, buuz are actually a fairly common, day-to-day meal.
This summer, I had a type of buuz called a mantuun buuz, which is actually exceptionally tasty. It resembles piroshki or pasties and is usually stuffed with grilled/sliced meat and maybe even some onions. Mmmmm... Now if that is what they served every holiday, I'd be a happy girl.
There's a new cafe in the same building as the school and it's serving up a variety of tasty-but-cheap food including a handful of Mongolian dishes. I'm hoping to try out their khuushur in the next week or so and will be sure to get some pictures for you. More bread and flour -- I know you can't wait!
Late-night confessional
I should be sleeping right now, but I haven't been able to fall asleep before 2am for a few days now.
Since I'm not sleeping, I should be catching up on blogs. There's so much to tell you about:
the seventh birthday in Mongolia (which came and went two weeks ago)
or
the wonderful, too-short visit we enjoyed with our friend from Colorado (also two weeks ago)or
the fun I'm having teaching Linden how to read (I have videos!!!)or
the somewhat random insights into Mongolian culture I've been picking up during language lessonsor
But am I doing any of this? No. Of course not. That would make too much sense. Instead, I'm making lunch. Yes, that's right. Lunch. I've been a bit obsessed with lunch-making for the past week or so. My freezer is home to two different batches of soup and a myriad of leftovers all frozen in their appropriate containers and just waiting to be taken out for lunch.the many unexpected meals you can cook in a toaster oven (and a few that you can't)
Tonight I decided to make three meals at once: a chicken/corn soup (that has turned out too salty), tikka masala (which might be alright at this point except that the potato chunks are still crunchy), and spicy black bean soup (which has been simmering for two hours now and could more aptly be called Flavorless Gray Broth with Crunchy Beans).
What a disaster!
Tastes Like Horse (ed. 9): Tsagaan Sar
04 March 2009
Ul Boov, originally uploaded by Wanderings.
Tsagaan Sar ("White Month" -- the Mongolian celebration of the lunar New Year) cuisine is very similar to an American Thanksgiving table in that there are certain common elements that are almost certain to be found in each home. Instead of turkey, potatoes, and cranberry dressing, you will find candy, pickles, bodz, huge portions of meat (beef or mutton) and the Ul Boov.
The Ul Boov is a layered tower of bread that is present in all houses during Tsagaan Sar. (The markets were selling these special breads for weeks leading up to the holidays.) The number of layers is dependent on age and how long you've been married as well as social standing, but there must always be odd numbers as the bottom layer represents joy, the next layer suffering, then joy, then suffering and so on, ending with joy on top. The youngest married couple in a family will have only three layers, the oldest may have either 5, 7, or 9 depending on a lot of factors that I don't understand. The top of the Ul Boov will be covered with all things white -- sugar cubes, candy, aruul (dried milk curds), marshmallows, etc. -- in honor of the "White Month".
Apparently, Tsagaan Sar celebrations used to take place at the beginning of autumn when there was an abundance of milk. Since milk and milk products are an essential staple in the Mongolian diet, this time of year was especially important and the New Year celebrations were centered around the idea of plenty and the hopes that such bounty would continue. They've been celebrating Tsagaan Sar sometime between January and March for the past 800 years, but the idea of the New Year being a time of abundance has continued to this day.
The Ul Boov is a layered tower of bread that is present in all houses during Tsagaan Sar. (The markets were selling these special breads for weeks leading up to the holidays.) The number of layers is dependent on age and how long you've been married as well as social standing, but there must always be odd numbers as the bottom layer represents joy, the next layer suffering, then joy, then suffering and so on, ending with joy on top. The youngest married couple in a family will have only three layers, the oldest may have either 5, 7, or 9 depending on a lot of factors that I don't understand. The top of the Ul Boov will be covered with all things white -- sugar cubes, candy, aruul (dried milk curds), marshmallows, etc. -- in honor of the "White Month".
Apparently, Tsagaan Sar celebrations used to take place at the beginning of autumn when there was an abundance of milk. Since milk and milk products are an essential staple in the Mongolian diet, this time of year was especially important and the New Year celebrations were centered around the idea of plenty and the hopes that such bounty would continue. They've been celebrating Tsagaan Sar sometime between January and March for the past 800 years, but the idea of the New Year being a time of abundance has continued to this day.
Sukhbaatar: Tsagaan Sar
03 March 2009
a hunk of beef and us, originally uploaded by Wanderings.
Because my time in Sukhbaatar corresponded with the New Year celebrations, I was invited to join my friends as they made the rounds visiting their Mongolian friends. Tsagaan Sar ("White Month") reminded me a lot of Thanksgiving or Christmas in the States: it's a time when family - immediate and extended - comes together for parties and rituals. Mongolians spend 2 or 3 days visiting one another in their homes, sharing traditional meals, greeting one another in the ceremony of the New Year, and (in our case) inviting their close foreigner friends to join in on the fun.
The weeks leading up to Tsagaan Sar were nuts -- the stores were full of people stocking up on candy and special breads and meat for the celebrations. At home, Mongolian moms were putting the whole family to work making hundreds of bodz (a Mongolian dumpling) in anticipation of the many guests and relatives who would come calling. (My language teacher's family made 1000 bodz a couple weekends before Tsagaan Sar, which was fewer than normal.) The Mongolians hope for cold temperatures, as most of these bodz will be stored outside until the New Year. In UB, some enterprising Mongols set up gers anywhere there was room and brought in large stoves to prepare meat for the apartment-dwelling Mongolians who needed an extra hand and were willing to pay someone else to take care of this essential part of the holiday meal.
Our Tsagaan Sar was spent in the homes of three sisters. We started at the oldest's home, then went to the youngest's, and finally ended up at the middle sister's apartment. (I had to seek refuge at a teammates apartment mid-way through the day because of some stomach problems and didn't make it to the final stop. The Mongolian New Year cuisine is not kind on a Westerner's stomach.) Our first stop was the most traditional -- there were greetings with prayer scarves, obligatory sniffs of snuff, shots of vodka (fortunately, we were only obliged to take one), slices of beef and an excess of bodz, as well as salted milk tea, homemade juice (that smelled strongly of mutton), candy, and boortzog (Mongolian unsweetened doughnuts). We brought gifts for each of the hostesses and upon leaving were presented with small gifts* to take with us.
Most Mongolians with foreigner friends will invite them over at specific times, whereas the Mongolians will just drop in on one another just about any time through the three days of celebrations. There were many Mongolian families on the road last Thursday on their way to visit relatives in distant towns before the holiday was over and they had to return to work.
It was fun to be a part of the celebrations, but as I sat there next to my friends listening to the conversations in Mongolian going on around us, I found myself wishing that I knew a bit more about this culture and a lot more of this language. There is so much I don't understand.
*Mongolians are pros at re-gifting. Many of the gifts they receive at Tsagaan Sar will be packed away in their homes until the next Tsagaan Sar, when they will be brought out again and regifted to someone else (or perhaps even the same person who gave it to them).
The weeks leading up to Tsagaan Sar were nuts -- the stores were full of people stocking up on candy and special breads and meat for the celebrations. At home, Mongolian moms were putting the whole family to work making hundreds of bodz (a Mongolian dumpling) in anticipation of the many guests and relatives who would come calling. (My language teacher's family made 1000 bodz a couple weekends before Tsagaan Sar, which was fewer than normal.) The Mongolians hope for cold temperatures, as most of these bodz will be stored outside until the New Year. In UB, some enterprising Mongols set up gers anywhere there was room and brought in large stoves to prepare meat for the apartment-dwelling Mongolians who needed an extra hand and were willing to pay someone else to take care of this essential part of the holiday meal.
Our Tsagaan Sar was spent in the homes of three sisters. We started at the oldest's home, then went to the youngest's, and finally ended up at the middle sister's apartment. (I had to seek refuge at a teammates apartment mid-way through the day because of some stomach problems and didn't make it to the final stop. The Mongolian New Year cuisine is not kind on a Westerner's stomach.) Our first stop was the most traditional -- there were greetings with prayer scarves, obligatory sniffs of snuff, shots of vodka (fortunately, we were only obliged to take one), slices of beef and an excess of bodz, as well as salted milk tea, homemade juice (that smelled strongly of mutton), candy, and boortzog (Mongolian unsweetened doughnuts). We brought gifts for each of the hostesses and upon leaving were presented with small gifts* to take with us.
Most Mongolians with foreigner friends will invite them over at specific times, whereas the Mongolians will just drop in on one another just about any time through the three days of celebrations. There were many Mongolian families on the road last Thursday on their way to visit relatives in distant towns before the holiday was over and they had to return to work.
It was fun to be a part of the celebrations, but as I sat there next to my friends listening to the conversations in Mongolian going on around us, I found myself wishing that I knew a bit more about this culture and a lot more of this language. There is so much I don't understand.
*Mongolians are pros at re-gifting. Many of the gifts they receive at Tsagaan Sar will be packed away in their homes until the next Tsagaan Sar, when they will be brought out again and regifted to someone else (or perhaps even the same person who gave it to them).
Sukhbaatar: A day in the life
02 March 2009
she works hard for the money, originally uploaded by Wanderings.
I headed to Sukhbaatar telling myself that it would be like camping. I knew we'd be relying on fire (within the wood-burning stoves) for heat. I knew we wouldn't have plumbing. I didn't know that I'd walk away with a greater sense of respect and appreciation for the life my teammates up north have chosen to participate in.
In some ways, life in a house or ger in Mongolia seems simpler and quieter; in other ways, it seems like a lot of never-ending work.
We (the two Canadian visitors and myself) woke up in a very cold room every morning, because none of us wanted to get up every hour or so to throw another couple of logs on the fire. It was warmer than the -40ºF air outside, but not by much. Because the three of us were staying in a loft above the house (and because we all slept in long past our hosts), we had the luxury of bustling down into the warmer house below to get dressed and washed and ready to face the day. If we hadn't been staying with early risers, we'd have had to brave the morning chill to start a new fire and wait for the heat to chase away the cold.
Any washing we wanted to do was done with pitchers of water taken from the buckets of well water in the kitchen or bathroom. (The buckets of well water were filled once a week or so by pump, I believe.) There was always a large metal pitcher of water kept warm on the stove and we could draw from that to temper the water to our liking. Any water used had to be carried out to the yard and dumped, so we were careful to use it sparingly. Washing our hands, brushing our teeth, anything requiring water was done over a plastic bowl, which was then dumped into a bucket, which was emptied once or twice a day in the yard.
Dishes were handled much the same way -- a tub of water (warmed with water from the pitcher on the stove) for washing and another for rinsing, a bucket for compost, a bucket for non-organic material that would be burned, and a bucket for the dirty dish water. The compost bucket was taken out periodically and dumped in a hole near the outhouse and the dirty dish water was dumped in the same part of the yard as the bath water.
There were buckets for bathroom use that we emptied two or three times during the day and then there was the outhouse for "non-bucket" use. If you've never used an outhouse when its well-below 0ºF, let me tell you that it takes some adjustment (and a small amount of gumption). The rest I'll leave to your imagination.
As often as we brought water and such out of the house, we were also bringing wood back into the house. Our friends had a stockpile of wood in their yard and we would load up the wheelbarrow to bring some to the house and then load as much into our arms as we could, taking multiple trips to pile the wood near the upstairs stove and around the stove in the kitchen. Back and forth we'd go until both stoves were well-stocked and then we'd leave another full load outside the front door for good measure.
Most of the meals were prepared on top of the large, cast-iron wood-burning stove in the kitchen since it was already hot and usually easier to use than the electric stove. This, too, took some getting used to as the temperature varied with the amount of wood on the fire. One day I got a small cast-iron skillet out to cook an egg and, by the time I was ready to start cooking, found that the skillet was so well pre-heated, I actually needed to remove it from the stove and cook my egg in it while it rested on a hot pad on the counter. I have a great deal of respect now for the countless women throughout history who mastered not just the frying of an egg on an iron stove, but the preparation of everything from soup to baked potatoes to bread. I suppose after enough time, you know just how much wood to add to create the kind of heat that cooks your food through to the middle without charring the outside.
A couple hours before bedtime, one of us would head upstairs to start the process of warming our room. We'd venture out of the warm house every 45 minutes or so to squeeze as much wood into the stove as possible. When the room was warm enough, we'd head up with our books to read and throw more logs on the fire until it was finally time to sleep. A couple nights of over-zealous stoking left us sweating in our beds and we learned that it's a lot easier to warm up in our sleeping bags in a cool room than it is to cool down on top of our sleeping bags in a swealtering room. Buried under blankets, we'd sleep until morning and then wake up to do it all over again.
In some ways, life in a house or ger in Mongolia seems simpler and quieter; in other ways, it seems like a lot of never-ending work.
We (the two Canadian visitors and myself) woke up in a very cold room every morning, because none of us wanted to get up every hour or so to throw another couple of logs on the fire. It was warmer than the -40ºF air outside, but not by much. Because the three of us were staying in a loft above the house (and because we all slept in long past our hosts), we had the luxury of bustling down into the warmer house below to get dressed and washed and ready to face the day. If we hadn't been staying with early risers, we'd have had to brave the morning chill to start a new fire and wait for the heat to chase away the cold.
Any washing we wanted to do was done with pitchers of water taken from the buckets of well water in the kitchen or bathroom. (The buckets of well water were filled once a week or so by pump, I believe.) There was always a large metal pitcher of water kept warm on the stove and we could draw from that to temper the water to our liking. Any water used had to be carried out to the yard and dumped, so we were careful to use it sparingly. Washing our hands, brushing our teeth, anything requiring water was done over a plastic bowl, which was then dumped into a bucket, which was emptied once or twice a day in the yard.
Dishes were handled much the same way -- a tub of water (warmed with water from the pitcher on the stove) for washing and another for rinsing, a bucket for compost, a bucket for non-organic material that would be burned, and a bucket for the dirty dish water. The compost bucket was taken out periodically and dumped in a hole near the outhouse and the dirty dish water was dumped in the same part of the yard as the bath water.
There were buckets for bathroom use that we emptied two or three times during the day and then there was the outhouse for "non-bucket" use. If you've never used an outhouse when its well-below 0ºF, let me tell you that it takes some adjustment (and a small amount of gumption). The rest I'll leave to your imagination.
As often as we brought water and such out of the house, we were also bringing wood back into the house. Our friends had a stockpile of wood in their yard and we would load up the wheelbarrow to bring some to the house and then load as much into our arms as we could, taking multiple trips to pile the wood near the upstairs stove and around the stove in the kitchen. Back and forth we'd go until both stoves were well-stocked and then we'd leave another full load outside the front door for good measure.
Most of the meals were prepared on top of the large, cast-iron wood-burning stove in the kitchen since it was already hot and usually easier to use than the electric stove. This, too, took some getting used to as the temperature varied with the amount of wood on the fire. One day I got a small cast-iron skillet out to cook an egg and, by the time I was ready to start cooking, found that the skillet was so well pre-heated, I actually needed to remove it from the stove and cook my egg in it while it rested on a hot pad on the counter. I have a great deal of respect now for the countless women throughout history who mastered not just the frying of an egg on an iron stove, but the preparation of everything from soup to baked potatoes to bread. I suppose after enough time, you know just how much wood to add to create the kind of heat that cooks your food through to the middle without charring the outside.
A couple hours before bedtime, one of us would head upstairs to start the process of warming our room. We'd venture out of the warm house every 45 minutes or so to squeeze as much wood into the stove as possible. When the room was warm enough, we'd head up with our books to read and throw more logs on the fire until it was finally time to sleep. A couple nights of over-zealous stoking left us sweating in our beds and we learned that it's a lot easier to warm up in our sleeping bags in a cool room than it is to cool down on top of our sleeping bags in a swealtering room. Buried under blankets, we'd sleep until morning and then wake up to do it all over again.
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