Loco

We left China in the depths of the night. It seemed appropriate. Not only had we flouted their anti-Facebook laws, but had mocked the political system and tobogganed alongside the country’s most famous natural wonder. Little wonder they were glad to see us go.

An unmarked van dropped us at the border; we stayed in an empty hotel above a bus station, and in the morning we were driven by a toothless maniac, through no-mans land to the edge of the Gobi desert. We were glad to see the back of Mao, and even happier to wave goodbye to a billion queue jumpers.

Mongolia was our heart of darkness. Yaks, gers and Genghis Kahn had been the topic of our conversation for months, and this portion of our trip had been booked far in advance. From one extreme to another: overnight we passed from one of the world’s most densely populated countries to one of it’s most barren. Mongolia’s vast countryside is home to fewer than 2 million people and the horse to human ratio is 13:1.

We were to spend the next fortnight living alongside some of Mongolia’s many nomadic people, sleeping in tents, riding yaks, milking horses, and slaughtering goats. So of course we were terribly excited. Not only that, but we’d heard that the Mongolians were great fans of cheese.

I love cheese, am fond of butter and used to carry a spoon in my handbag for the express purpose of eating yoghurts. In fact, one might say that I am a fan of milk and its many derivatives. So when I heard from a fellow traveller that Mongolians were keen on dairy products I salivated at the prospect. Cheddar, Brie, Gorgonzola; I knew I was going back to Europe for something. Kraft cheese slices in Tonga, Laughing Cow triangles in Laos, I definitely can believe that this yellow paste isn’t butter. Bring on the deli counter…

Never has a person been so misled. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suffering from calcium deficiency, dairy products are plentiful. You might even say that the country is rife with them. That’s right, rife. In the last week I have eaten an incredible number of things made from milk; cream, fried cream, sour cream, cream cookies, hot milk, hot milk with salt, milk tea, butter, yoghurt, soft cheese, hard cheese, cheese curds, milk with rice, milk with meat, dumplings in milk, and a few questionable hard curd-like things which defy definition. In fact, I have eaten some sort of milk derivative for every meal of every day for what feels like an eternity.

Not only that, the culinary tomfoolery doesn’t stop there…oh no! There’s not only cows to contend with in Outer Mongolia, don’t be fooled. What about some delicious yak milk? Would you care to suckle that hairy cow? Or maybe you’d like some mare’s milk? That’s right, it’s a lady horse. And wouldn’t it be a nice idea to let that mare’s milk ferment so we can all drink refreshing, delicately flavoured sour milky champagne? Or shall we go totally crazy and make vodka out of milk, doesn’t that sound yummy-yummy in your tummy, with it’s totally unique gone off milk aftertaste? Scrumdiddliumptious! Sarcastic, me? Well read it as you will.

Maybe I enjoyed it; maybe I’m going to hang out near dairy farms hoping for warm weather to sour the milk so I can bathe in it. Or maybe I wanted to cry every time I approached a ger and sensed the imminent dairy coming my way. I’ll let you be the judge.

And how do you think I feel about offal? That’s the “culinary term used to refer to the entrails and internal organs of a butchered animal”. It’s probably just peachy isn’t it, since I’m a “culinary adventurer” as I have often described myself. That’s karma for you. Brag about scorpion eating, regale you with tales of snail tasting and cricket munching, and then what happens? That’s right. Offal. Insert turbo pub here: I tried to eat the goat’s organs, but they were just offal. Boom boom. That’s the sound of a comedy drum.

Just to clarify I’ve mostly been eating intestine, blood sausage, lungs, liver and a medley of others animal innards. Maybe chuck in a little face for good measure, boil it up, et voila! Goat Surprise. The surprise is it’s 100% goat. If you can get it off the carcass it’s going in. And I ate the lot. As the non-vegetarian it was my duty to take one for the team. Vicki’s not going near it, she doesn’t even like chicken flavour crisps for God’s sake.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger they say, so let’s assume I’m stronger. Please let me be stronger, otherwise that’s a whole lot of offal for nothing. On the plus side I have remixed the classic Peter Andre hit and have paid Vicki back for her abstention by singing “whoa, whoa, whoa, mysterious meat, I wanna get close to you…bring your offal close to mine” at every opportunity. I’m pretty sure that she loves it. Although right now she’s ignoring me so I’m not totally sure. Just kidding, it’s a hit!

Photos: Kate

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