The NY Pizza!

Original NY Pizza!

Yes, there are pizza places here in Bishkek. No, they don’t even compare to those at home, maybe the pizza in NC though. And there is actually one place called NY Pizza. Anyway, we had a get together of some friends one Saturday evening, and I decided to make pizza. I found mozzarella cheese, marinara sauce, and garlic powder, and looked on line for a recipe to make pizza dough. I must admit, I have never had to make my own dough before, so I was a little concerned. Well, they came out of the oven lookin good and smelling great! I was relieved. Everyone was surprised, mostly by the fact the people do not make pizza at home here. I said that pizza, where I live, is like plav here. Very common. Next would be the big test- how did it taste? Would they like it? Well, they loved it! Of course. No really, they thought it was great. So now, I am responsible for making it for every birthday party and special occasion! Dastan said that his girlfriend will have to know how to make such pizza; he does not have a girlfriend at this time, so I told him that I was here for 2 ½ more years so he had better find her soon! I am now not only responsible for making pizza for special days but for teaching how to make it. I just hope the Beta store stays stocked with mozzarella cheese and marinara sauce- I might have to stock up! A week later I made a broccoli and cheese, garlic pizza just for us at the house. Tanya asked how often I had pizza back home, and I said sometimes once a week, that pizza where I live is a very common meal, and she said that we might have to make that a tradition at the house here too!

Naaaahhhtional Drink!

Earlier I told you about ‘Шоро’ (Shoro), the Kyrgyz drink that was like a Chuck Norris powerhouse kick in the mouth. I can now drink a whole cup rather quickly and without making a face! Well, I have now experienced ‘Kymiez’ THE national drink- fermented horse milk…yes, horse milk. It is another one that is hard to put a description to the taste, but to help you out here it goes- it is like drinkable, smoked cheese, with the hint of beer (the fermentation, but non-alcoholic, I guess). The smell, well, as only fermented horse milk might smell like- you can use your imagination on this one. My reaction…to my surprise, I wasn’t appauled, I actually asked for seconds. It is ok in small portions and good to drink it at a pace. Though, out of curiosity, I did try mixing in a little strawberry Nesquick, when I only had a couple of sips left, and well, I would not advise such a combination! It was horrible!! It is better on its own. After my first taste, and my unexplained desire for seconds, my friend Ira, whom recently returned from Narin (near Issyk-Kol) brought me a whole bottle of ‘Kymiez’! It is almost gone, but I have been a good host in offering it to guests to share in as well. It is definitely something you need to build up a taste for! I only wish there was not so many restrictions on liquids going through the airports….oh well….your loss.

“Stop” in the name of the law

After my Russian lessons, I always walk to the bus stop across the street. It is about 20yds from the corner and so I usually cross the street and then walk along the curb to the bus stop. The side walk is back a ways and it is easier to walk along the edge of the road, plus, you are able to flag down your marshruka if it happens to be driving by. Well, one day I noticed a police car parked just before the bus stop platform, and I thought to myself, maybe I should walk on the sidewalk today, but I saw that there was plenty of room to walk by the car and they hadn’t waved anyone over to the side of the road. I figured it’d be ok, well, I figured wrong. There were three guys- two in uniforms and one guy in plain clothes. The two guys in uniforms were on the side of the car towards the road, and the other guy, as I got closer, stood in the pathway between the car and the platform and stretched out his arms so there was no walking around him. I knew then I should have listened to my first instinct. The guy then started to talk to me and of course I didn’t really understand anything because he talked rather fast, and then one of the other guys in uniforms came by and said something too. I just gave a look, like I was trying to understand but really had no clue what they were saying. Finally, the one guy asked where I was a student, where do I study? I said in Russian, that I wasn’t a student but here with an organization, and I was just walking to the bus stop. At that, the uniformed officer left and went back to watching the road. But the other guy continued to talk. I was hoping that the ‘naive foreigner who doesn’t understand’ act would get him to give up in frustration and let me continue on the five feet to the bus stop, but alas, it did not work. So I had to walk all the way back to the corner, to get to the sidewalk, once I was there, I figured that I did not want to walk all the way back up to that bus stop, so I continued walking down the street to the next stop. The lessons learned- 1. The naïve foreigner card does not always work, 2. As always avoid the police and going to close to them if possible. At least I didn’t have to pay them for my lack of judgment.

Egg-celent!

Well, when you bring your culture with you, not all things are understood. How many eggs do we usually buy in America? 12, a dozen. So, how many eggs do I usually ask for when I go to the store- 12. It seems simple enough…right? But alas, not so. You see, 12 and 19 sound very similar. Actually the first time I asked for twelve (in Russian) then the guy said back to me- ten (in English) so I figured close enough, and I said yes. Well, I left with twenty eggs! After that, I went to asking for numbers not sounding like 10, 12, or 20, and asked for 6 or 8. After some time, I figured my Russian had improved and I could once again try for 12 eggs. So I went to the store one day and asked for 12, I actually practiced saying it to people who were in the house and they confirmed that I was saying 12. Well, at the store, I asked for 12 eggs, and when the lady repeated the number, I said yes (though, it is difficult to hear what number a native Russian speaker says when they speak fast and low). I watched as she was putting the eggs into the bag and when she got to about what looked like 12 and continued to put more in the bag, I knew there had been a miscommunication. So once again, I left with about 19 or 20 eggs! I have since found out, that here, they do not usually ask for 12, but rather 10; and there is a special word for asking for ten of something (like asking for a dozen). Yup. I have not practiced it yet, after eating eggs so often, it will be a while before I go back to buy some more!