What to eat when you come to Mongolia

It’s likely in the months, weeks, days, hours, or minutes before you enter the country, you will read some literature on things like customs, language, travel destinations, and accommodations. Don’t forget about the most basic of necessities, and I don’t mean the toilet, which is also important but a completely different topic (though somewhat related to the digestive process) – food.

Of course it is obvious that Mongolia food will be different than “traditional” American food. American food includes such delicacies as Big Macs, Whoppers, and Pizza Hut Meat Lover’s Pizza. Mongolia has none of the aforementioned, though I believe the Meat Lover’s Pizza would be a smashing success as meat is the only food group mentioned on the Mongolian Government’s Food “Pyramid”. Ok, I can’t fool you. It’s not really a pyramid if there’s only one food group. When I first came two years ago, I ate as much meat as I could to “become one” with the culture. Three sheep, two weeks, and one bowel movement later, we were at a restaurant that served “vegetable soup”. I was ecstatic because the only vegetable-like things I had seen were growing on or around cow pies (which is not a food group). After a millisecond of consideration, I ordered the vegetable soup. When it arrived, it had two large chunks of fat, some extra chewy sheep meat (commonly referred to as “mutton”, but not to be confused with “lamb”), a lot of grease, a potato the size of an eyeball (but there wasn’t an eyeball in it), and one of those baby carrots Americans are so fond of. Needless to say, the vegetable soup just meant it was the same sheep soup with a vegetable or two thrown in.

There are other traditional Mongolian meals to choose from if the vegetable soup doesn’t tickle your fancy. One such meal is buuz, or “dumplings”. These little guys are generally the size of a toddler’s fist, and nearly as tasty. The outside is “flour” (it’s sort of like dough, but in the end it’s steamed, so a different consistency than dough), stuffed inside is meat of some variety – mutton, beef, or horse. My personal favorite is, well, none of them. I will sample, and then pass them on to my Mongolian husband. If you don’t have a Mongolian husband, you may be in trouble. When you visit a family, whether in a ger or an apartment, they watch you like a hawk to see your reaction to their treats. It’s important to practice your poker face before going out. It’s truly an art. But about the buuz, if you are a big fan of dough, grease, meat, and fat, you’ll love this traditional food. If you like a little bit more grease than the typical buuz can offer, make sure you come in the summertime when the buuz is shaped differently and deep-fat-fried into a traditional food called huushuur.

Huushuur also contains the same meats that buuz does. Both of these meals are quite intricately made. On several occasions, I have “helped” make them (this means I watched). First the “flour” is rolled out (it’s more like a pie crust, however). They work it like you would work a pizza crust, then let it stand a while. While it stands, it’s important to prepare the “meat” (or entrails, or on some occasions -- believe it or not -- vegetables!). This involves one hunk (if you want to try the recipe, a hunk doesn’t equal Brad Pitt but rather one-fourth of a leg of sheep) of meat (your choice), onion, and about two pounds (that’s just a little short of one kilogram, if you’re reading this from somewhere other than the USA or Great Britain). While this is simmering (or burning) on the stove top, it’s time to roll out the flour. Roll, roll, roll away and then form it into something of a skinny log. If you have a little kid around, they seem to be the best at this as they have small hands. Your kiddo helper should slice off a piece about the size of an infant’s fist (there are no such thing as measuring cups here, that’s why I’m trying to wean you of exact measurements such as 1.2542 ounces of salt, etc.). He or she will then proceed to roll it out like a miniature pie crust. Place the meat on the pie crust. Next is the part that makes huushuur or buuz like an art – sealing up the dumpling. I suck at it. Mine turns out like a glob, but the Mongolian women can make it look as though it is actually stitched shut. They are quite beautiful, which is why I don’t like to eat them (that and the taste). Finally, after you have made about 3,405 (odd numbers are important) of them as they do around Tsagaan Sar (Lunar New Year, White Month, a whole ‘nother topic), you steam the buzz or deep-fat-fry the huushuur.

Now you have enough information to prepare a small Mongolian meal. If you have ever eaten at the restaurant called “The Mongolian Grill”, you will see what a huge farce that is. At no point in time while you are in Mongolia do you get to walk through a buffet line and select things like pineapple and shrimp and douse them in sweet’n’sour sauce and then cook them on a really cool grill. However, this restaurant does get one thing right. The gigantic grill did originate in Mongolia, as did many other modern miracles (yet another topic!). Chinggis Khaan (or Genghis Khan to the western world) ruled almost all of Asia and a good portion of Europe for some years. His men didn’t have a lot of time for buffet lines or McDonalds, so they would cook their food on their shields. If they didn’t have time for the grills, they would drink horse blood straight (in the 20th century the Russians brought vodka, which helped things considerably) carrying it in something like a canteen. I’ll get you the recipe for Mongolia’s finest horse blood… next time.

How to Drive in Mongolia

I’ve been here more than six months now, and have been taking detailed notes on how to drive a machine (car) Mongolia. Thus far, I have had only two opportunities to test my Mongolian driving abilities, so at this point, these are only theories and should be viewed as such. Here is the advice I offer.

First, you will need a car, preferably one from the reservation if you are reading this from Dakota. The older, the better; and if it has a blue body and red doors consider it a bonus. Not too big, mind you. When the Soviets put the streets down in Ulaanbaatar they made most of them one-way. Since then, they have become two way streets but when two cars take to it, sidewalk driving may be required. In the event the sidewalk is occupied, you may find yourself in a standoff with the oncoming traffic, both of you honking furiously insisting you were there first. These standoffs have been known to outlast some of history’s minor wars. However, should you find yourself in a larger car, consider it a blessing and a curse – it’s inevitable that you will be in an accident or two or three dozen before it’s all said and done. The larger the car, the better your chances.

Now that you have a car picked out, it’s time to get behind the wheel. It’s not important that your car is well maintained. Windows are optional. In the event the window(s) is/are gone, just cover the hole with plastic. If you are a thrifty person, plastic really is overkill and likely to be stolen by someone else who needs a “window”. You can just leave it open to enjoy the polluted city air. It will also be an advantage for later driving tips. If you don’t have functioning headlights, don’t worry. The sun comes up at 8am and sets at 5pm now that it’s winter, and to even the score most people don’t have headlights. You would actually have an unfair advantage if you did have headlights, so consider it a handicap to go against your driving skills.

Speaking of driving skills, none are really required here. If you are able to start a car, put it in gear, and honk the horn, you’re set. Defensive driving is a thing of the future in Mongolia. Pedestrians fill the streets at all hours, and some of them are drunk. You must use some caution when you come across them; however, if you take one or two out, you’re still in the learning stages. You needn’t worry. There are plenty more pedestrians. Other drivers on the road will not be courteous to you, even if you use the “Hi friend! Please let me into this mass of traffic so I can get to my destination three seconds faster!” hand gesture from the window. In order to perform this maneuver, simply roll down the window (if you have one) facing the side the traffic is coming from. Stick your arm out in a friendly gesture (not the one-finger gesture we Americans are so fond of), maybe smile a little, and pretend to thank them for stopping to let you merge with the disaster of traffic ahead of you. It’s imperative that you just pull out into the traffic as you are doing this. It’s like playing Russian roulette with a car. Maybe the other friendly drivers on the road will let you in, or maybe they will just tear off your bumper as they drive past you. Either way, it was nice of you to wave at them with your bare hand in the subzero temperatures. Losing a few fingers to frostbite as a new driver is also a possibility.

If you find yourself in Mongolia with a car but no job, do not fret. Anyone, and I mean anyone, can go as a taxi in Mongolia. Even today, one of my American friends said he was considering getting a rickshaw to earn a few dollars. But that’s another story. It’s estimated that there are 80,000 cars on the streets of Ulaanbaatar. That’s ten times the amount of cars ten years ago. However, there are nearly one million people in the city. If you do the math, you’ll realize many people need a taxi (or a rickshaw) to get around. That’s where you and the red-doored plastic-windowed Ford Escort come in (and you’ll be an exotic taxi if you are driving a Ford). All you need to do is fill your car with benzene and drive around the city. People will wave you down for a ride, and you pick them up. You needn’t worry that they are crazy ax-murderers or anything like that. Everyday people acting as taxi drivers is the craze here in Mongolia. Hitchhiking is encouraged to help the locals earn some extra cash. It’s not against the law.

On the topic of law, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of helpful police officers around to assist you in the event of a problem. However, about ten of them actually have a police car. If you see one waving at you to stop, it might cross your mind to just keep driving since he is on foot. I wouldn’t advise this. I would stop and chat with the nice man. He earns about $70/month and will offer to “punch” your driver’s license, or you can just pay him off, which in turn will help feed his children. The punches on your driver’s license are similar to the “earn a free coffee after ten stamps” cards you might get at a classy place like Starbucks. In Mongolia, however, after three or four such stamps, you earn a “free trip to jail”. It’s better to just pay the man off. You can rest assured the government will never see this fine, and nobody will ever know you ran over that pedestrian. It’s usually relatively cheap compared to similar fines in the USA – for example, running a red light might cost you $80 in the USA, but here it will only be about 2000 togrogs ($2) paid conveniently at the site of the crime. No messy court cases to worry about.

In the event that you are driving and see flashing lights in the rearview accompanied by sirens, it’s best to just haul ass. If you pull to the side of the road, you could cause a worse accident than the one they are racing to. If nothing else, an alarming number of people will honk at you wondering why you are pulling over. Yielding to emergency vehicles hasn’t been invented in Mongolia yet.

Signal lights may also confuse you. Sometimes the run into the traditional green, yellow, red system. But every once in a while you will find a tricky one – red, yellow, green. Kind of a “on your marks, get set, GO!” situation. The real nasty problem is when the electricity goes out. This occurs about once a month on the streets and on a more regular basis in the apartments, though most people don’t actually drive inside their apartment building. Intersections do NOT become four way stops when the lights go out. They become an opportunity to practice your “Please let me into traffic!” smile. Nobody yields, nobody moves, and nothing happens until the police show up or the lights come back on, which could be several hours or even days later. It’s best to always have a survival kit in your car in the event of this condition. It would be tragic to starve to death in an intersection of Ulaanbaatar. The police will find you, plastic cut from the driver’s side window, face on the horn in a frozen smile, hand gloveless as it dangles unmoving from the window making a final “Please let me into traffic, you nice drivers!” gesture. They may need the Jaws of Life to remove the red door from your blue car to pull you out. I assure you the Jaws definitely haven’t made it here yet.