Notes from Cottonwood

No turkey at the bazaar. They sell geese, ducks and chickens, but no turkey. The base commissary had a few frozen ones and I stood in line for forty minutes with a hundred other wives. We got one. It cost $38, and I think that's a record.

We invited Chynara and her husband Mirbek (a base electrician who works with Mark), plus Linda's family. Chynara brought a large round bread and a bowl of boorsok. She asked what we were thankful for, and Sam said "no school today", and Mirbek said, very seriously, "this is a good tradition."

After the pie, Mirbek told Mark a story about the winter of 1992 that I didn't catch all of. Mark told me later it was about a siege. I'll ask him again some other day.

I've been reading a food blog by a woman named Zarina who lives in Talas (link on the left). My sister found it first and she says her church potluck can't have enough of her plov. So I tried it. I got the carrots wrong (cut, not grated, which makes sense: they must stay in sticks) and I stirred the rice because I was nervous, which is apparently a crime in the plov world.

My first plov. The color is better than the taste. Zarina, I'm sorry.

Mark ate three plates. Sam ate rice and left the carrots in a pile on the side of the plate. Lily asked if we could have it every night. I'd say that's a pass.