Weight; my weight; and the weight of a volunteer. These are topics of consternation for all parties involved, not the least of which being parents (just ask my worried mother).
Personally, I am fairly characteristic of the Peace Corps norm: I have lost significant amounts of weight since coming to country. Where I rolled in at a very comfortable 180, my most recent scale setting put me 25 pounds below that, and everyone laughed at how absurdly heavy that seemed. At my lowest, I was in the mid 140’s.
Now, for the record, I am not the biggest loser, not by far. We’ve got a guy out here who came in at around 200 and now sports a lean, mean 140. He’s in a village, and laments the countless winter dinners of little more than fried noodles, especially when they represent his only meal of the day (I’m not in such dire straits). Furthermore, I am not even close to being medically evacuated for weight loss. In this scenario, which does indeed happen, volunteers (typically male) are sent to America for a couple of weeks just to fatten up.
And I say male volunteers see this happen more often, because, well, it’s the truth. Here in Kyrgyzstan, men lose 15 and women pick it up, or so it generally goes. What’s more, I’m told this is a nearly universal phenomenon in Peace Corps world wide. The reason? “In developing countries, diets are higher in carbohydrates, and men are better at processing those.” Or so goes the rumor. Whatever the truth is, my host family has their own explanation.
“Carl was fine until the revolution,” they like to say, “it was only then that he started losing weight.” Regardless of the fact that official Peace Corps health records dispute this claim, they’re not so concerned: when I show my host sisters pictures of me from America, they can’t help themselves but to giggle, “you were fat then,” they always say, “you look much better now.”
Still though, my impressive weight loss of last Spring caught the eye of my superiors, who then graced me with a rice cooker, and the effects have been transformative. This pleasant contraption sits at my girlfriend’s apartment, and works to feed feed us when I’m there on the weekends and the occasional weekday (and her any time she wants!). Far from just rice, however, we have also used it for pasta, buckwheat, barley, beans, and even grilled cheese sandwiches! Furthermore, this one little tool has helped us branch out into other cooking experiments. What all can you do with rice? we’ve wondered. Where previously weekend meals meant little more than Ramen noodles, we now make up fried rice and stir fry, just ’cause it’s so easy.
And then there’s the beans. When I strolled home from Talas last year with 45 pounds of white beans, little did I know what would happen to them: when there were still tomatoes and bell peppers in the bazaars, chili was the name of the game. Now, I have them for breakfast with rice and eggs whenever the situation suits me. In fact, those little guys end up in just about anything we eat recently, including the greatest of concoctions: the bean burger.
That’s right folks, when ground beef is expensive and suspect, or you’re simply in the mood for something quite different, the bean burger is definitely a new favorite. Just last week, for the first time, Anne mashed up beans with garlic, onions, carrots, bread crumbs and eggs, dashed in plenty of salt, pepper, and some very tasty curry powder, to make the most flavorful patties this side of the Himalayas. They were so good, in fact, I joined in for another (much larger) batch two days later.
And, from that, folks, I feel somewhat confident saying: some basic knowledge of how to turn simple ingredients into tasty food must be the cheapest way to improve quality of life. If only I had known sooner.
